True
by Fasnacht
Summary: Continuation of the Run Trilogy. Sam and Jake are staring the future in the face when their past collides with their present in ways they never expected. Their struggle to spread their wings and fly as they grapple with the meanings of their roots challenges not only their relationship, but their perspectives and dreams. Updated weekly. Warnings in header. Crossposted to ao3.
1. Chapter 1

**_This took me forever. I'm back and so thrilled to be here, to have this story at a point where I can share it. I promise updates at least weekly. I'm back and active in this fandom, and if you want to chat and catch up, do feel free to PM or comment. I appreciate all of your support over the years, and cherish all of your feedback. This story will and does become more Sake-centric._**

 _Don't you think I know you've been down at Smoky Joe's_

 _Spendin' all my workin' cash, a-drinkin' mash and talkin' trash_

 _But you ain't foolin' me no more so don't come knockin' on my door._

 _So Don't Come Knocking_ , Dallas Frazier

The truck jolted over the range, bumping towards the dirt and gravel road. Sam nearly slid off the seat, but grabbed the door handle just as Quinn swung onto the gravel road, a splat of mud hitting the floor with each jolt.

"If you've ruined my interior..." Quinn threatened, hands spinning the wheel easily.

Sam cut him off as she felt a splat of mud settle onto the floorboard. "It's why you can scrub down mats, Quinn." Sam pushed back onto the seat, "Shut your face."

"I did shut my face." Quinn allowed, "I did, and it ended with you sitting yourself down in the mud because apparently I don't—" Quinn grinned, "What was it you said?"

"You don't know jack about stock tanks." Sam reminded him primly, not that he needed to hear it. Quinn had a memory like a steel trap. He was teasingly mocking her, and she was happy to play along.

"I-" Quinn poked himself in the chest as he drove the truck one handedly down the dirt lane that would take them to their yard, "Know plenty, thank you. I know things about stock tanks of which your brain has yet to even consider."

Sam snorted, "If you knew anything I didn't know, you'd be running your mouth."

"Why would I?" Quinn asked, "And anyway, you told me to shut my trap, so it's your loss."

"I said mouth this time, do keep up." Sam retorted, feeling her stomach twist. When would she ever learn to eat with her NSAIDs? When would she ever remember that eating prevented this pain and nausea, mild and short-lived though it was? She'd feel better once she vomited, though there was no telling when that might happen.

"Mouth, trap, pie hole..." Quinn reeled off, "—chops, gob, kisser, yap, hatch..."

Sam tuned him out, and looked out at the spring abundance that was coming to fruition across the yard. There was clean wash on the line, and daffodils danced near the porch, while rose bushes were yet not in full bloom. The dog was loping around, herding a duckling that had escaped its mama's watchful eye. Mama duck was making noise at her errant duckling, bustling its way towards her baby on webbed feet.

Sam scanned the yard, spending a long second glancing at the horses, even as Quinn kept speaking. Her gaze rotated towards the house, and Sam startled in a hard flinch. Sam felt a cold chill in her blood as she saw a shining rental truck in Quinn's spot, with a bunch of luggage in the bed, and a saddle thrown over the railing of the stairs nearby.

Sam slowly raised her hand to point.

Quinn fell silent, and Sam felt his gaze tracking her finger's line.

Quinn spoke for them both, "Shit."

That single word hardly began to express the total gravity of the situation. Roughly, Quinn jerked the truck into park as Sam fumbled with her belt. He seemed lost for words. Luckily, Sam found some, her mouth loose with something akin to panic and dread all mingled together, "What are we going to do?"

"I'll tell you what we are not going to do." Quinn opened the door, and hopped down, but turned around and faced Sam as he continued, "We are not going to call Jake, do you hear me?"

Sam nodded mutely, slowly coming to agree with Quinn. "Not today, of all days." There was no possible way that she could tell Jake. Today, he was out on calls with Dr. Haskins. He likely did not have reception.

Even so, that was not the main reason Sam hated this, had this feeling of dread in her stomach that stemmed from both nausea and worry. Every day, they waited for decisions from various medical schools and colleges. No one needed the added stress right now.

Sam hopped down from the truck, slip sliding onto her feet. All teasing about dirt and mud was utterly forgotten. Sam shut the truck door, wanting more than anything to not walk into that house.

Quinn fell into step beside her as the moved around the truck and towards the house. He was beyond joking, though Sam knew he was searching for something to say. Air left his lungs in a hurried woosh. "Why do you think he's here?"

Sam had no idea. "From the looks of his luggage..." Sam took in the three bags, which was far more than anyone would bring for a short visit, "And the saddle, I think we're looking at at least a month."

Quinn's hand clasped her elbow as they went up the stairs. In doing so, he was able to say in an undertone, "I hope you're wrong."

She hoped she was very wrong, too.

With that shared hope between them, they walked into the house. Quinn took the lead, calling out, "Mom, it's Sam and me!"

"Oh, Quinn!" Max called from deep within the kitchen, "Kit's home! Isn't it wonderful?"

Quinn blanched, so Sam forced up her 'I tolerate my father's girlfriend' smile, and called out in return, "That's just great!"

Quinn choked on his spit, coughing as Sam hauled herself up the steps, only fumbling twice.

Sam changed quickly, throwing on worn jeans, and a clean sweater, her mind whirling. It was clear that Cricket was not here with her husband. Hopefully, then, Kit was only stopping off during a work trip to the mainland, not that he ever had done so in previous trips. Sam had seen Max cope with the pain his lack of visits had caused, and Sam wondered what was different about this trip.

She would not stand to see Max hurt yet more though action, as she had been so bruised by Kit's intentional inaction. The years since Kit had been a child and young man in their midst had long passed, and in those years, hurt and pain had festered. Every ignored letter and phone call, every visit they'd tried to plan that had fallen through, every time he'd not stopped home had added up to a rift and a distance.

She bundled her dirty clothes together, and headed down the stairs, straining her ears to overhear conversation so that she did not walk into this minefield blind. "...more chili? We'll have dinner soon, but you must be hungry. I think Sam made some brownies."

"I ate those." Quinn replied. Sam gripped the bannister and let her foot drop off of the stair. Haphazardly, her left foot followed suit. She maintained her grip on her dirty clothes, and headed towards the kitchen.

By the time she got to the door, Max had already begun speaking in response, "Oh, well. I'm sorry, Kit. I would have made something special had I known you were coming. We're just so glad you're here." She did not stop speaking when she spotted Sam in the doorway, "It's just wonderful. Sam, you go on and call Grace and tell her to come for dinner. We'll have pasta."

Sam shared a glance with Quinn, utterly ignoring the man with the bowl of chili balanced in his hands, sitting backwards on a chair. If anyone else had ever sat like that on those chairs, they'd be grounded, no matter that they were all nearly legal adults.

After a second of commiseration with Quinn, she spoke, "Hey, Kit."

Kit leaned forward on the chair, unbalancing it, "Hey." He summarily ignored her as he had always done, "Mom, there's no need for fuss."

"Nonsense." Max pulled down a large pot from the cupboard above her head, and peered into it critically.

Quinn pushed to his feet, "You and Sam were going to the Cattlewoman's meeting, I thought."

"We don't mind missing." Max asserted, not even asking Sam. Sam intended fully to go, even if she had to bum a ride from Trudy. She still wasn't driving. She was slowly coming to see that no matter what Dr. Francis said, she might never drive again.

Max looked up at Sam, still hanging onto her wash and standing there, "Sam, while you're at it, call your grandfather."

Before Sam could move, Kit looked over at her, a toothy smile covering his face. "Sam, grab me some crackers for my chili."

Oh, he remembered her name when it was time to ask for things. How typical of their childhoods, or at least those later years. Sam pointed towards the basket in the middle of the table with her chin. "There you go."

Before he could ask her to actually pass them, Sam strode from the room, and threw her wash in the laundry pile. She wanted crackers, too, but they would likely make her more nauseated. She wasn't his assistant, wasn't some little eleven year old who could be made to do someone's bidding.

She had absolutely zero intention of calling anyone, so it was a relief when Max called her name again as she plopped her less soiled garments in the basket and put the jeans in the sink to rinse, "Sam! Never mind, I'll call myself!" Max called, too excited to let anyone have a role in spreading the word, evidently, "Would you mind starting on some noodles, please? The dough will need to chill."

Sam replied in the affirmative, and tried to pull herself together. This visit was a good thing, even if it filled her with a sense of foreboding that had nothing to do with the nausea rolling in her blood. She knew that there was a lot of tension between the boys, but Max and Luke deserved their joy, deserved to have their whole family together.

She was glad that she could avoid the main kitchen for the summer kitchen, and hide out there, dumping flour, egg, and water, onto the board without having to see another living soul.

She needed to think. Her stomach was tight, upset, and she did not want to vomit in front of anybody. She was never going to remember to eat with her NSAIDs. She needed them so rarely.

After her wash was getting into the wash cycle, she set about her task. Once she grabbed a scraper and some other tools, Sam reached for the flour canister, and scooped it out in a well practiced way onto the smooth wooden countertop across the room from the swooshing washing machine.

Thankfully, she had classwork to do herself and wasn't going to be expected to be a huge part of Kit's visit, or so she hoped. She had finished high school early, doing what she had to do to get done and out of the way once she began working with the Extension program and Mrs. Church. It hadn't made any sense to pace herself, just to hang around for graduation or prom. None of those things mattered. Still, work, especially math, had not been easy.

Sam had been relieved when Mrs. Church had suggested online college classes as she'd been wrapping up her modules, unsure with what to do with herself and with her time. Online courses for college credit had filled out her schedule, and put her ahead of the game. She knew that leaving for school was going to be a challenge, so she was glad to have a great many of her credits out of the way. Her first semester at school was going to be rather light in terms of face to face classes.

Also, the school district had paid for most of the classes, so it was almost free for her to gain credits. Knowing that every class had saved her money, Sam had worked like a fiend to take four classes each eight week module. They were classes she would not have to put out any money to take, even for books. That meant she was pulling in an average of 24 credits a semester, the absolute limit for which the school district would pay. Sam had taken advantage of every free class, knowing that any money she could save was best for the ranch.

Sam hoped that she would have the option of finishing her degree in two semesters, once she was on a campus. Though it had been an adjustment, college courses were easier for her. They pushed her, but not in a way that in ways that were painful or impossible. They pushed her to grow the good parts of her intellect.

Now, it wasn't so much about what she could memorize. Sam couldn't memorize a simple list of items, most days. It was now about what she could do with information, what conclusions she was able to draw with the information in front of expected the books to be closed, and a timer to be pulled out. She had fewer assignments, now, but they counted for more per class. It worked well for her, far better than those last months of high school ever had, in truth.

She had cried with relief the day she'd finished that math class from hell, and had promised herself that she would she was going to leave math in the dust. Never again would she take a math course. Just the thought of it made her heart race as she formed a dough on the board.

The eggs were gooey and slick as they mixed with flour. Sam's stomach clenched, and she sucked in a breath. Sam heard Max going on and on through the telephone, and Sam rolled her eyes. Of course there would be a dinner for Kit.

Sam wondered if they were going to be expected to kill a fatted calf. This sucked.

What was he doing here? Why was he here? Where was his wife? Why had Cricket not come along? Every time Kit called, he made her sure to mention how happy they were together in paradise. It didn't stand to reason then that he would leave for any amount of time without explaining where she might not be with him.

The door to the back kitchen opened, slowly so as to avoid the squeak of the wooden frame on weather worn hinges. Sam glanced up to see Quinn shut the door behind him. His face spoke a thousand words, and it was evident that he too was nauseated and baffled.

Sam worked on her dough, glad it was almost done. Quinn rifled on one of the shelves until he found what he was looking for, and stuffed an entire cookie in his mouth.

He chewed it half up, and then spoke, "I'm stress eating."

"I'm going to throw up." Sam admitted, knowing that the action was nearly imminent. "I didn't eat with my pain meds earlier, so I win."

"You do not win." Quinn disagreed, putting away the cookies, and hiding them behind a pile of dishcloths that was in a lined straw basket on the shelf. "You made a choice to eviscerate your stomach lining again. I'm reacting out of trauma."

Sam considered her words. Her stomach flipped, and she did not know if it was because of her medication or because she knew Quinn was correct. A cold sweat broke out across her brow.

Kit was back. The truth of the matter was, while they loved him, nobody much liked him. There had been a lot of hurt feelings over the years, with the callous way he had simply walked away, and then acted as though they were somehow inferior. He was clearly Max's favorite, and he lorded the special treatment he garnered over the rest of them, even as he did things to Max and Luke that anyone else would never dream of dishing out.

The dough finally came together as Quinn stood there, eating cookies he'd taken out of the tin. Personally, Sam thought Kit was a little lazy, a little pathetic. She never voiced those thoughts aloud. It went without saying, and she wasn't the sort to be unkind. She thought he embodied some of the worst traits of the family. There was no hard work to balance his humor, no honor to balance his black and white view of the world.

Sam considered her words as she finished mixing the dough. It had come together in an expertly mixed disk, and would soon be ready to make into noodles. Her stomach was in knots. Finally, her face gray, she looked over at Quinn, and declared, "I'm going to throw up."

Backing away from the food, Sam turned around and found purchase at the wide industrial sink Luke had gotten for a song at an estate sale. Flour puffed up in her face as she pressed her stomach to the counter. Her stomach tightened as she heaved, expelling digested food and bile.

Quinn turned on the water, to wash down the offending liquids. Sam heaved again. After a moment and another few twists of her stomach, her stomach declared itself empty. Quinn passed her a cup with water in it, and Sam washed out her mouth. After spitting the final time, she shut off the slow trickle of water, and said, "Thanks."

Things were fine. She felt almost entirely better now that there was nothing in her stomach. Nausea came, and nausea went, but it didn't rule her life. It passed, and even the twinges of her stomach told her now that she had broken through the worst of it.

Quinn asked, "Do you want some soda or something?" He was serious, "I'll go deal with Kit if you want some ondansetron."

Sam shook her head, but stopped when it made her a bit dizzy. "I can't take stuff every time I vomit. It's my fault. I messed up my meds."

"Doesn't mean you ought to suffer for a mistake." Quinn pressed, knowing that the conversation was over.

Sam blew out a breath. Thank God the dough was done, so she could leave it alone for a while. She pressed her head down on the counter. She was so sick of having to cope with this stuff. It had been years. She was going to be 18 in mere weeks, and it didn't look any of her issues were going to magically disappear. Being an adult didn't make medical issues go away, it just meant changes to some of her doctors.

"Sam?" Quinn pressed, though she heard him pressing cling wrap over the dough.

"I'm awake." Sam muttered. She didn't want to be, not with the way her head was spinning and her stomach was summersaulting, but she was fully alert. She was settling, and felt better than she had five minutes ago, "Don't be a fink, Quinn, I'm fine."

Quinn was over by the mixing bench, eating yet another cookie. "The pasta's mixed." He pressed a hand onto her shoulder. "You haven't been taking care of yourself."

"I'm functional." Sam glared. She felt so much better after having cleared out her innards. She scrubbed her hands down with hot water and a copious amount of soap, and sipped more cold water.

Quinn made a sound of disbelief. "Sammy."

"This isn't going to be good." Sam spoke her truth aloud, even as she hated herself for the dark tint of reality.

"Don't bother trouble. What do we know, really?" Quinn tried to be optimistic, but even he failed. To Sam, that spoke volumes.

 _If I do get a mean and stony stare_

 _If I'm not successful, it won't be distressful_

 _Cause I don't care_

 _A girl should know her etiquette_

 _Alas, alack_

 _Propriety demands we walk a narrow track_

 _When fellas used to blink at me, I'd freeze 'em and they'd shrink at me_

 _But now when fellas wink at me, I wink at them right back!_

 _I Don't Care_ , Judy Garland

Dinner was agonizing, and it wasn't because the food was heavy in her stomach. Grandpa had come over in due course, and so at least Sam didn't have to worry about the table being unruly or rude. He set a high bar of civility and his expectations thereof, and everyone minded Grandpa. She'd set aside a large portion for Jake, and fiddled with her own food. She wished she had stayed in her room, where she had hidden after doing her part to make dinner. She had been summoned, though, and there had been no way to look into Max's bright eyes and declare herself more tired than hungry, though she had been up earlier than usual to do her schoolwork and active on the ranches.

Quinn nudged her foot under the table. Sam picked up her water glass. Quinn obviously wanted her to pay attention to Kit's command of the dining table. "...So, there we were, absolutely covered in sand..."

And that was enough for her to know that he had nudged her out of frustration and not interest. Sam couldn't take the charming smile, the way Kit was weaving a spell. Sam put down her glass, and heard Max interjecting happily, "And how did Cricket react?"

"She was fine." Kit said, mentioning his wife for the first time in Sam's hearing. He then set his sights on Sam, cutting his own story short, "So Mom said you were applying to colleges?"

Sam was startled but not entirely surprised by this shift in conversation.

Sam nodded, setting her fork down on the edge of her laden plate. "I'm waiting to hear back on transfer placements."

Gram added, "Of course we're very proud of Sam. Did you know she's almost finished with her degree? She's worked very hard."

"I like my classes, is all." Sam asserted, shooting Gram a look she hoped would be interpreted as modesty. Really, she was annoyed. Kit did not need to be told that River Bend needed every penny it could save, that she did not want to add debt to their life, not when she knew they'd be swimming in it once Jake began school in the fall.

Sam knew people were staring, wanting her to add more, so she said, "I'm majoring in Women's Studies and Fine Arts."

"Didn't you decide on a journalism minor?" Luke asked, knowing full well that she had done so, not too long ago. She had taken most of the courses in the last module. She had a paper in her current classes due tonight.

"Women's Studies?" Kit's eyebrows rose, "What's that? Home Economics? I mean, I know everybody says you need help with that but..."

"Women Studies isn't Family and Consumer Sciences..." Sam felt her muscles clenching as her teeth clattered together. There was so much condescension in his tone, in the inflection of his voice. Of course, he would still treat her as though she was five, and blowing up Easy Bake ovens for fun. She did not let herself consider his actual opinion of the work of feminist scholars and her identity as a intersectional feminist scholar herself. "It's actually a transdisciplinary field that seeks to understand facets of diversity and structures of inequality. I tend to focus on the experiences of women in the progressive era in the West, though not all women's studies scholars focus on people who identify as female, or on a narrowly defined topic."

Grandpa added, "I read a new book on Elizabeth Cady Stanton."

"That's some old dead lady, right?" Kit asked, waving his fork. A bit of sausage fell off of the tines as he did so, landing on his sauce covered plate with a glop.

Sam couldn't believe that Max was looking at Kit as though he had hung the moon. She would normally lecture someone within an inch of their lives if they knocked some historical figure like Kit had just done.

"Yes." Sam's teeth snapped together, her mouth having fallen open. "My focus is progressive era reform. Her writings and experience surrounding motherhood are fascinating."

"So, what are you going to do with that sort of a degree?" Kit asked, shifting on his seat, "It seems a bit fluffy and useless to me. You always said you wanted to be an ag teacher. I guess you could still do that now, if you found some sense and took some classes at the community college."

"I could." Sam allowed, knowing that the idea of being a high school classroom teacher was very far from her realm of interest, largely because she had not set foot in a high school classroom in years and did not think it was the best space for her, "But I want to go to grad school, and write, and then I want to come home and work the ranch."

"That's a lot of work." Kit paused, but only for a nanosecond, as he spooned yet more food onto his plate. He was always moving. It made Sam almost dizzy. She had this inkling that something about his demeanor wasn't right, but she couldn't quite place it.

Quinn interjected, "Tell us something we don't know." Everybody chuckled, though Quinn was completely stating the obvious as he buttered another roll. He smiled, his most fake charming smile, "So you were saying, Kit..."

Kit went back to some story. Sam noticed that he completely skipped over any mention of his beloved. He talked more about his friends and his work on the ranch. Sam picked her way through a salad, eating more than she actually had room for in her tight stomach. Setting down her fork, Sam sat back and observed.

Kit was jovial. Too jovial. Something was utterly off about him, though Sam couldn't pinpoint what exactly what it happened to be. His hands were shaking, slightly, and he threw himself totally into the conversation, eating with gusto and abandon, as though he would fall apart if he were still for a single second.

Sam couldn't make sense of it, yet. She needed data. With that in mind, she dove into the conversation. "So, Kit. How long were you planning on being here?" Sam realized that her undertone was plain. To soften presentation, she asked, "Because if you're going to be here for the drive..."

"I'm not sure yet." Kit gave her that winning smile sure to make the girls swoon, "Mom might get sick of me."

And oh, the laugh that came from Max down at the end of the table twisted Sam's stomach. None of the others got this treatment. It rankled, because it was confusing. Sam did not like confusing things. Well, that wasn't true. She liked them, but only so much as she enjoyed figuring them out. She wasn't going to give into Kit's deflections quite yet.

"Well." Sam ventured, "I'm only asking because Jake and I are going to San Fransisco soon."

Max looked eagerly down the table towards Sam, "Sam, couldn't you postpone your trip now that Kit's here?"

"Max, I..." Sam tried not to rage. She was not going to set aside her life and her goals to make nice. They were very seriously considering SFMC and Orange Grove, and these visits were absolutely key, not to mention that Jake had meetings. He'd been offered admission there, but he hadn't yet heard back from everywhere he wanted to go, so he hadn't yet fully made up his mind.

Sam forced air out of her lungs. She just had to be polite. She just had to paste a smile on. What did it matter, anymore, what Kit thought of any of them? He wasn't someone who mattered in their lives, not really, because he had made the choices to walk away.

Before she could finish, Luke patted Max's hand, and put an end to this line of conversation. "There's plenty of time to talk things over, and lots of time to visit."

Sam sent him a grateful look that he did not miss. It seemed that even he was completely over Max's fawning of their son. This visit was never going to end, and it had just started.

 _Hit the road Jack and don't cha come back_

 _No more no more no more no more_

 _Hit the road Jack and don't cha come back_

 _No more_

 _Hit the Road Jack_ , Ray Charles

Jake turned back to the sink to hide his expression. No matter how schooled he was, he could not hide the disgust in his eyes. No one was really paying attention to him anyway, because they were all back to talking, laughing as Kit held them captive with some stupid rodeo story.

Jake picked up his watch, and slung it back over his wrist. It was metal, secondhand, Soviet, and had a second hand. Jake had gotten it as a gift from his parents for graduating from college with a 4.00. Dad said it would do him just fine in medical school.

The cowboy leaning back in the kitchen chair took a swig from his mug, "...and then, Slim, well, he just thought that it was the funniest thing. So, naturally, we had to send the kid snipe hunting. He went out, stayed out for a good four hours..."

Jake's blood boiled, and he tuned his brother out once more before he said something terrible and true. There was a point to jokes and a pecking order on a ranch. Jake had walked in to the kitchen in the middle of this rendition of the story, but what had gone down was as plain as day. They'd shipped some green kid off into the tropical landscape, filled with snakes and spiders and God knew what else he likely had never seen. They'd put him on some wild goose chase and made him prove himself with an impossible task. It put Jake in mind of all those tricks and pranks that had defined his growing up years. Kit and his buddies had gotten away with teasing and tormenting the younger ones, with a fake smile and platitudes to Mom. Behind her back, he had gotten revenge if any punishment had been handed down. Jake had learned to stay out of his way, even after the rose colored glasses had fallen away from his eyes.

Kit was still talking about this kid, who had cried. Kit laughed about making a 18 year old boy who was two thousand miles from home cry, as though being in power over him had been nothing but amusing. "...never did live it down. Turned out to be a decent kid, all told."

Neither Dad nor Wyatt had ever, ever allowed pranks and jokes to go that far. There had been limits, limits based on common decency and respect. Jake figured that any outfit in which Kit played a principal role would not be guided by those same values.

"Where's Sam?" Jake privately hoped that she had gone back to River Bend. They usually were here on Wednesdays, because he had a late night and Sam had her Cattlewoman's meeting with Mom. Clearly, they had not gone.

"She went outside, Jake, after Trudy called to say she couldn't go." Mom said, not even so much as looking at him, "I'm not quite sure when she left, so I couldn't tell you where she might be."

Jake nodded, and left the room as Kit continued as though he had not be interrupted. Kit hadn't made an effort to speak to him, not that Jake cared. It wasn't like he wanted to talk to the guy.

They did not need Mr. Do No Wrong around here right now. Jake felt like he was walking a wire, waiting daily for admissions decisions to roll in, and the added pressure of having Kit in the house was one he could hardly stand. Kit was the worst of the lot, and he himself was no saint. Kit, even on his best day, was rude, and haughty, and treated Mom like garbage. He asked for money from Dad, and never paid a cent of it back, all the while putting on this front that he was this freewheeling cowboy with a happy home life.

Jake headed to the pasture. He figured if Sam was around, she would be there. If she wasn't there, then likely she was at River Bend. Clearly, Mom had elected to skip the meeting tonight. He hadn't expected to find them at home.

Jake didn't really know what to make of Kit coming home, like the prodigal son. It seemed highly fishy to him.

Sam had texted him. Exactly when he did not know because the second he'd gotten reception, her text had popped up. She'd wanted him to be prepared. For the first time, Jake was just glad they were getting out of here to go to the city. He was thinking on seeing if Sam wanted to extend the trip.

Jake let out a shrill whistle, a blast of noise that was soon answered by the thud of hoofbeats. Witch saddled up to him, slowing to a stop with her usual grace. She dropped her head, _You rang._

Jake patted her neck, "You're smart, getting out as far as you can with that guy in the house." He didn't mind being petty to his horse. She understood.

Witch shifted, as if to say, _If he tries to ride me, I'll buck him._ She nuzzled against his body, and Jake knew exactly what she was asking for with her pushy movements and doleful eyes.

"Spoiled." He gave her the peppermint anyway. "I'm going to go get your tack."

Jake was walking out of the barn saddle against his hip, when a voice called out, "If you're planning on heading for the hills, you had better not be leaving without me."

Sam caught up easily as they moved toward the pasture, her own blanket and bridle in her arms. "I was trying to catch up with you."

"I waited for you." Sam admitted as they crossed into the pasture, "You missed quite the circus at dinner."

Jake felt the hair on his arms rise. "What did he say to you?"

"Jake..." Sam patted Ace's side, as she slipped the bridle over his head.

That wasn't a no, then. Jake decided that as much as he wanted to know, wanted to handle it, that it was Sam's business if she told him. He didn't like it, exactly, but he knew being hot-headed about slights their way wasn't the way to start this off. She was better at handling Kit anyway.

Jake huffed as Sam led Ace over the mounting block. He made sure the saddle was tight, because lately Ace had been sucking in a lung full of air to throw the cinch off, and Sam had nearly slid from the saddle twice in the last week. He didn't think it was funny, but at least she had the sense to keep wearing a helmet.

At his nod, she hauled herself into the saddle. At this point, she didn't need him to help her. She'd made any adaptations she'd needed over time, and now the changes were so seamless that he hardly even remembered what they were, exactly.

Jake mounted, and they headed West by mutual agreement, towards the sunset that was fading from the sky. After a little while, with nothing but hoofbeats between them, Jake found himself speaking, "Rosalie Blanco had her baby last week. I got to hold her while Haskins checked her out."

Rosalie had two kids under five. She'd come home to Nevada shortly before the birth. He husband was in the Navy, and she hadn't wanted to stay on base with a new baby. Her husband, Eric, was away enough that he understood her desire to go back home to settle in with the baby and their toddler.

Jake had stood in her living room, the baby's mohawk of blonde hair amusing him as he'd held her tiny little body against his chest. It had been nice, something a bit strange. He'd been terrified he was going to drop the baby. He hadn't though, and hearing her breath sounds had been nothing short of amazing.

Sam's smile was soft, "You're broody."

"I didn't want to keep her." Jake countered, knowing that there was a very big difference between liking somebody else's baby and wanting one for keeps.

"The gentleman doth protest too much." Sam teased.

They were silent again, until Sam brought up the elephant in the wilderness. "I bet you he's just here for money."

Jake considered her assertion.

Kit always wanted money. Mom and Dad handed it over, hand over fist, never mind that Seth was struggling through starting his law career, or Adam had gotten a second job just to pay his bills when things hit a low at the shop. He'd had medical bills out his ears after breaking his collarbone on a whitewater rafting trip, but did he ask for money? No.

Kit had, for rodeoing, for his trips, for his job, for bills, for expenses Jake didn't think he should have kept up. It annoyed Jake to no end that Kit had just shown up, so sure of his welcome. The rest of them put a day's work in to earn a place to sleep here, but not Kit. "Maybe."

"Just..." Sam began, "I just want you to know that we don't know why he's here. It could be anything."

Jake was privately worried that it was either nothing at all that brought him here, or something big. He wasn't sure which she thought might be worse, or more worrisome.

 _Well raise another round, boys, and have another glass_

 _Be thankful for today knowing it will never last_

 _Still lets leave the world laughing when our eulogies are read_

 _May we all get to heaven 'fore the devil knows we're dead_

 _May we all get to heaven 'fore the devil knows we're dead_

 _Before the Devil Knows We're Dead_ , The Turnpike Troubadors

Sam was exhausted. Today had shoved her through the wringer, button side out. She was so glad to be done with chores. The chickens were shut up, and now she and Jake were sitting in the tack room. She was making up a shopping list for River Bend based on the CAL Ranch flyer. Mainly, she was just avoiding going inside. Brynna was over at home, visiting for dinner, and Sam figured avoiding Kit was easier than avoiding Brynna, who was determined to be her friend. At least Kit was honest about his apathy.

Sam pushed to her feet, and returned the flyer to the basket by the door. Sam was just about to ask Jake what he was doing, and if he wanted to go inside and go to bed, when she heard something she wasn't supposed to hear.

"What?" Boots were moving towards the tack room door, but the attached voice carried farther towards her ears, "...no, I haven't told them. How am I going to tell them? My perfect parents, with nearly 35 years of marriage don't understand things like this."

Sam froze. Jake inched towards her. They were clearly evesdropping, standing as close to the door as possible. Jake's hand gripped her elbow.

Kit spoke again after a moment, "Jesus! It isn't like that! They're not going to kick me out. You know what?" Kit's voice was filled with a resigned vitriol, "It is what it fucking is, thirty-three years old, my wife left me. I quit my job, couldn't even show my face to pick up my last check. I've got nothing for me on the Islands. I'm not sure what I'm doing, man, but I'm too old to hit the fucking circuit, again. Shit, some of those boys could be my get."

Sam couldn't haul a breath into her lungs. This was huge news. This explained everything, and opened a Pandora's box in Sam's mind.

Sam felt Jake's heart rabbiting in his ribcage from where he stood behind her. Sam heard Kit's hand moving toward the doorknob, and knew that if they were caught, things would be bad. She knew Jake's fuse was short with Kit, and she wanted to avoid a confrontation when emotions were running high. She also wanted to avoid raising Kit's suspicions. They needed a cover story so that they could process this bombshell.

What could she do? What could she do? Jake was no help. He was just standing there, imposing and looking confident even when their world had just...

 _Oh._ Sam's knees went weak with want at the worst possible second.

With time running out, Sam pushed Jake back far enough to position herself, a look of interest on his face, and press her body against his. His stance shifted minutely, giving her room to place her feet around his. Sam's quick view of their boots shifting together set something quavering in her stomach.

Luckily, Kit ended the conversation and that beep refocused Sam. Now not the time to lose her train of thought. She had no other choice. This was conceivably the only thing that would ever distract her enough to ignore a conversation like she had just overheard, and anyone who knew her, transparent as she was about her feelings for Jake, would know that for fact.

Jake froze, "Wh-?"

Sam pushed up on her toes as she undid the clip in her hair, dropped it on the floor, and yanked at two of the buttons on her sweater. She breathed against his mouth, quickly, devoid of anything but desperation, "Open your mouth. We've got to look like we've been distracted."

Jake did so, most likely to respond as realization dawned in his eyes and a spark of mischievousness lit up the brown tones in his irises, his arms around her before she even finished speaking. Sam very calculatingly pushed her chest against him, and stopped just short of shoving her tongue in his mouth.

She did have a plan, after all. This wasn't a free show. This was a get out of jail card. She wasn't going to violate Jake just to get through this sticky moment. She knew she'd have enough to apologize for later, at least to keep their lines of communication open. Nothing about this was funny.

The door swung open just as Jake bit gently on her bottom lip, and breathed hotly against her mouth. He was annoyed that they weren't kissing for real, and that Kit was going to bust it up, Sam supposed.

Sam had to hold back a very real reaction, and she promised herself that they'd be finishing this later. Now was not the time to be thinking about anything other than a plausible cover.

Jake's wide palm was sliding down her back. It was calculated. That hand had a destination, or a supposed one. From behind, it would look as though Kit had walked into something very heated. Sam knew that, with Jake's one action, she had melted bonelessly against him.

Intensely aware of Kit standing in the doorway, Sam forced out a breathless huff.

Jake spoke before she got to it, and his own voice was tight. Sam thought it passed muster enough in this situation to ring true. He was, after all, frustrated on some level. "Can't you knock?"

She turned around, even as Jake tried to prevent the movement with his arms around tightly her. "Oh, Kit! I'd forgotten you were even home." She kicked the clip she'd purposefully dropped, in some kind of fumble she hoped came across as blustered and annoyed.

Kit picked it up. He extended the clip, open side up. A few stands of her hair were clinging to the clasp, like it had truly been fumbled from her locks in the heat of a moment. "You two better go inside."

His expression was stern. There was no secondhand embarrassment there, no hint of apology. He simply looked annoyed and angry.

Sam was certain they'd just been busted listening to him on the phone. She looked back at Jake, forcing a calmness she did not feel on into her smile. Sam's hand fell to her buttons, glad that she had only undone the one and the top and the one at the bottom. Nothing was showing, thank God. "Right. Well."

Sam took the clip.

Jake put his hand on her back. Without another word, he propelled them from the room.

When he strode up the stairs and slammed his bedroom door, Sam applauded him mentally. It suited their cover story just fine.

 _Well she packed my bags and opened up the door._

 _And I got a feeling she didn't want me 'round no more._

 _She caught me in a lie when I was messin' around,_

 _And that woman that I had wrapped around my finger_

 _Just come unwound._

 _Unwound,_ George Strait

Jake was fuming. When Sam slipped into the bedroom the hallway, he couldn't figure out what he most wanted to say to her. Jake sank to the bed. "What was that?"

Sam's color rose, "Look, I know I didn't ask, but I didn't know what else to do."

"That." Jake bit out, "Is not what I'm talking about, here." Jake didn't particularly appreciate her throwing herself at him as some kind of a joke, some kind of diversion, like their relationship was for anyone else's consumption or eyes. He was particularly annoyed that she had pulled her hair loose and mussed her sweater, only to throw Kit off their trail. What was that? She couldn't think of anything else?

"My mind just went blank, and I just looked at yo—…" Sam's blush turned her face into a reflection of a brush fire. She cleared her throat, "Anyway..."

Jake tried not to smirk. Well, that explained it better than some conversation ever might. He loved her so much, even with her propensity to get them into snags like this. In truth, though, he loved her because of her recklessness and her willingness to throw herself into the fray. And anyway, what they'd overhead had nothing to do with them.

"Don't laugh!" Sam scolded, "We have a huge problem."

Jake sobered. They knew now that Kit wasn't going home to Hawaii. They knew Cricket had left him. They knew he had quit his job, and that he wasn't going back on the rodeo circuit.

Sam continued, "I thought he was joking when he said he'd be here as long as Max could stand him."

"Guess not." Jake allowed, thinking over what he'd seen. "He's still wearing his wedding ring. They might reconcile in a day or two."

Sam gave him an arch look. He did too understand women. He resisted the urge to glare at her. "What?" Her expression asserted that he was missing something obvious, something big.

"Jake." Sam's sigh was resigned, "Would you want a man like that? Wouldn't you get sick of him when he never did grow up? I bet Cricket's done all she can do, and this was the only recourse."

Jake got it, to a point. There was something he knew he didn't quite understand but now was not the time to fuss over details. He asked, "We have information. What do we do with it?"

Sam faltered, uncertainty clear on her pale face.

Jake knew that his parents needed to know. They wouldn't judge Kit, but they would want to help him. Jake knew that the second his parents knew, things around here would change to allow Kit a leadership role here. Jake knew he didn't want that for himself, but his parents needed to know. "We've got to tell them, somehow."

Sam chewed her lip, "Is it our place, Jake? Maybe he just needs time."

Something in her expression struck fear and worry into Jake's heart. Terror bloomed hotly in his blood, "I don't need you taking his side."

"There are no sides." Sam asserted, "This might not even be an issue. Next week, he could be halfway to Del Rio. He's got a saddle."

"I can't take a week of this shit." Jake blurted, knowing full well that Kit meant he would never go back after hanging up his spurs. He wasn't at the top of his game, anymore, and God forbid Kit Ely not be the best at anything he did. Jake knew who they were dealing with, understood his motivations, better than Sam.

She wanted the bright side, and he had to be the one to shatter her hope with facts. "Don't you see? He's back." Jake declared his truth, knowing that what would come to pass was probably going to gut him and eviscerate Quinn, "He's back for good because he wants his birthright. The eldest Ely son, come to take up the helm of the ranch."

He knew now why Grandpa and Grandma had only had the one child, the one son. He hated the patriarchy. He hated tradition. He wanted what was best for the ranch. Even though he hated Kit for his cowardice, he could confidently and objectively state that his vision of the future was not the best one for Three Ponies or Deer Path.

Sam tried to soothe him. Jake saw something soft move in her bearing. Her voice dropped. He could almost see her fighting with herself, not to cross the room and press her hand to his arm. "You're jumping the gun by a good ten miles, I think."

"It only came down to us, Sam, because no one else wants it." Jake reminded her, wheels turning frantically in his mind, "Had anybody but Quinn and me stepped forward, you and I would have never been asked to stay involved so much."

"He does not want the ranch." Sam enunciated, as though she knew it as truth and had a notarized document saying as much.

"What else has he got?" Jake fought the urge to pace as puzzle pieces locked together in his mind. This was the start of his goodbye to any right he had to the future he had banked upon. "He didn't go to college, didn't go to trade school. He spent his whole life playing big shot rodeo star until that dried up. He got that job at that ranch, but he won't get another now that he left without giving notice. Three Ponies is all he's got in his back pocket."

Jake's whole world was something his brother considered a fall back plan. His whole universe, a place for which he lived, and would have gladly sacrificed all he had, was Kit's fallback. That rankled Jake. Generations of his family had put the ranch first, and Kit only strolled home to take up the helm that Quinn and he had spent years preparing to take up when Kit decided he had nothing better or more worthwhile to do.

"Jake." Sam's voice was sharp as she called his name. Grabbing his attention, she demanded, "Listen to me."

"There's nothing to say." Jake gruffly admonished her, "He's got his plans."

Kit had his plans. And once again, Jake was powerless to stop them, powerless. He could see this coming from one hundred paces off, see how it would go down. Once again, it was the youngest, unexpected son, pitted against the one his mother said was a gift from God and an answer to prayer. Jake had spent his whole life working to earn just a tiny bit of the respect and regard Kit had been given without an ounce of effort.

And poor Quinn. Oh, God. Quinn.

Jake walked off, as Sam called out, "Jake..."

He couldn't deal with this right now. He couldn't deal with the look on her face. He did not need her pity or her false cheer. They needed to face facts.

 _You want to be something you gotta pay the cost_

 _But in the long run I'll be a better man better off_

 _I'm gonna learn from my mistakes once I'm past this heartache_

 _I know when the hurtin' stops I'll be a better man better off_

 _A better man better off a whole lot better off_

 _Better Man, Better Off,_ Tracy Lawrence

Sam had tried to give Jake space. She knew he was dealing with a ton right now, but time to process was one thing. Five days of silence and growing tension was quite another. Kit wasn't in Del Rio. He wasn't in Sacramento, or Santa Rosa. He wasn't in New Jersey or New Mexico. He was firmly ensconced in the bedroom next to Jake's own, and Jake hadn't said a word about what they knew or what he thought.

Sam couldn't find a way to get Jake to open up. She knew the whole situation was going to go up in flames when Max brought up the trip again, "So, I assume you've postponed your meetings."

Sam startled, "No, we haven't, actually."

"Mom." Jake all but snarled from where he stood cleaning out his bag at the worktable in the kitchen, "Drop it. Just drop it."

Sam was shocked that something so important to them, something so vital to their future, could be so easily misunderstood as a trip to see Matrona and Aunt Sue. Just last week, Max had wanted to help her practice for her own interview on campus at Orange Grove. She'd spent a good amount of time practicing MMI skits with Jake.

Kit laughed, and stuck his fork in his food. "Running off to be a big shot doctor, are you?"

He bit into his pie as though dinner hadn't been mere hours ago, "Never thought you'd go against what everybody wanted for you."

"You'd know a lot about running off, then?" Sam gave voice to the taunt before she could stop it.

She regretted it, but not because Max looked at her with censure in her eyes.

Kit grinned, and it made Sam sick. "I see how it is. Don't ruffle your feathers, Sammy. I don't care if y'all are here or not. The road calls. No difference to me." He glanced at his mother, charming tone hiding the insults and the jibes, "We might even get more done. Dad was talking about going to that sale out in Nye County. Quinn and I will get on better without worrying after the young ones."

Quinn saw this exchange for what it was for his defense was an instant criticism of Kit's facts. "They're not so young, Kit. You've been gone so long, maybe you've forgotten." Sam felt vindicated in those words, "Dad would be lost without Jake's help. I like working with them."

"Quinn..." Jake put the cap back on his highlighter and put it in the correct pocket. "It's fine."

Sam knew it was not fine. It was not fine. Both Jake and Quinn wanted their mother to say something, but there she was, just looking at Kit like he had hung the moon and ordered the sun to rise.

Jake, in focusing on that, had missed Quinn's message. Quinn liked Jake, and though he loved Kit, he did not much like him. Jake was staring ahead, absorbing the insult like he hadn't heard it, like it was nothing new.

Sam bristled. They were not five and six-year old children being teased and tormented. This stopped now. "We do have lives, you know. Time passes. We grew up when you weren't around and found goals and principles."

Kit cut her off at the pass, "Still defending him, Sammy?"

The message was apparent. Maybe, Kit had implied, she hadn't grown up as much as it could be expected. She did not want to play into his hand.

Sam hesitated. Jake was a confident, self-aware, self-assuming, grown man. He did not need her impassioned defense, though it burned her lips as she hauled it back. Sam stuck her needle through the fabric of the sampler she was making for Asher's bedroom. She resisted the urge to touch Jake, to absorb his tensity and make their unity clear, especially to Jake, who looked so shut down that it hurt Sam to see it.

"Boys..." Max laughingly chided, like this wasn't serious, like one brother hadn't just cut another to the core. "You don't need to bicker about who gets to ride shotgun on the trip to the sale."

Sam was floored. She fought to keep her jaw from hitting the table. It was Max who could not see that they had grown up, and that all of them had grown apart.

They had been raised together, but they were not the same sort of people. They were family, and Sam would put her life on the line for Kit, but she did not think Max understood what was really going on here. It was Max who wanted to hide in the past, and pretend as though her family was once again whole, instead of fractured.

In that second, Sam knew the news of Kit's separation would not be coming from her lips. She would not shatter Max's joy. She knew that Max needed to see that her children were not kids anymore, and that they had lives bigger problems in life, bigger issues to handle, than who would be riding shotgun in the van or truck.

Such a silly thing hadn't mattered in more than a decade. Time had moved on. Kit was right though, just not in the way that he thought he might be. Some people never did change.

 _I lived in corpus with my brother_

 _We were always on the run_

 _We were bad for one another_

 _But we were good at having fun_

 _We got stoned along the seawall_

 _We got drunk and rolled a car_

 _We knew the girls at every dancehall_

 _Had a tab at every bar_

 _Corpus Christi Bay_ , REK

Having Kit in the house wasn't something he knew how to explain, other than in hateful words, even after almost a week. The air felt oppressive, like he was constantly being expected to have his people face on his face, and he could never relax. Combining hating his brother with his fears and his PTSD was no good for anything like quality of sleep.

Kit slept all day and was up all night. Jake was certain his was drunk all of the time, or chasing away sobriety. He'd found bottles scattered around, and had begun collecting the empties at a flip, so as to put them with the recycling there. He didn't want to enable Kit. He knew the thing to do would be to go to him, or their parents, but he was holding onto the ever-dwindling hope that this was some kind of 'my wife left me' binge. He prayed it would end, but there seemed to be no alteration of the schedule that had his mother tensely insisting it was jet lag, and his father on alert.

They weren't stupid people. Jake figured they knew what was going on here. He had not yet spoken to Quinn about it, because he and Sam had agreed not to tell him what they knew of Kit's circumstances. Despite what Sam said, Jake simply did not know where Quinn's loyalties were at the moment. He felt safer keeping his mouth shut, knowing that he wouldn't have to deal with the knowledge that his brother, his closest brother, had thrown him over for Kit.

Jake looked forward to bedtime, to escaping to River Bend when he could, for the simple fact that he could breathe, could relax. He wasn't going to the sale tomorrow. He wasn't going.

The soft lighting in the den illuminated his _Progressive Rancher_ as he skimmed a few articles before turning in for the night. Sam was finishing up her evening's work. Jake was waiting to here her moving around to have a decent excuse to get up and leave the room.

His restless persual of the page kept his mind occupied, at least partially. Jake was glad for this moment of solitude, so lost and missing in the last week. Of course, given his luck, it couldn't last.

Kit strode into the room, flopped on the sofa, and turned on ESPN, jacking up the volume.

Jake tried to ignore SportsCenter and focus on grazing patterns, but even his loud, pointed, flicking of the page didn't have Kit turning down the damn TV. Jake huffed and flicked the page, fluffing out the crisp paper.

Kit paid him no mind as he watched the stats on the TV, his gross bare feet blocking Jake's vision of the doorway. So much for seeing Sam went she went by, making sure that she was alright after sitting in that chair for ages.

It was now a battle of wills. Jake wasn't going to give up, ceed his private, quiet time, in the evening, to this bullshit. Jake folded back the page and tried to read, all the while thinking about fratricide.

Jake put down the magazine, slapping it on top of a back issue of _Bust_. The wooden table next to the overstuffed chair held his mug, and all Jake had wanted was to sit, with his _Progressive Rancher_ and his hot chocolate, and read, He wanted to read, pretend that outside of this room, that his brother hadn't sold him out for greener pastures and that Kit wasn't taking everything away. He just wanted five minutes where he didn't have to be nice.

Jake sipped his cocoa, letting the hot, thick, chocolate, temper his fury.

"Aw, hell." Kit sighed. Jake did not know why, and did not care to learn the reason. He took some joy in the fact that he was disappointed, though he wished he would focus on his actual issues rather than loafing around in track pants watching TV.

Jake picked up the magazine again, pointedly not engaging with Kit. If he wanted to talk to somebody, well, Quinn had made his willingness clear. They were buddies now, laughing and joking and pranking. There was still tension, sure, but Quinn had bought Kit's lies wholesale. He still hadn't mentioned the collapse of his marriage, nor that he had given up on his life and work in Hawaii and trotted to Three Ponies with no intention of leaving.

Over the blare of the TV, Jake heard, a muffled curse. He pushed to his feet, walked to the TV, and flipped off the TV.

Before Kit could open his trap, Jake called out, "Sam?"

He didn't want to head her way, not yet. It could just be that she had seen Kit in here sitting like a dragon guarding her _Bust_ magazine.

Her voice was coming from upstairs. "I...I...need a towel, or something." Her voice took on a nervous edge as Jake headed towards the stairs. "I'm..."

Jake heard the thunk of bottles hitting a tile floor.

Fury built in Jake's veins as he moved towards the stairs, and took them three at a time. He knew that Kit had let water get all over the bathroom floor again. He was the only person around here who refused to follow the rules, the only person who would put others at risk out of laziness and selfishness.

Jake found Sam clinging to the vanity, trying to keep her feet under her, like a colt unsure of where to place his legs as she sought purchase on the wet floor in bare feet. Her urge to grip the strongest thing closest to the door, had caused her to knock bottles off of the tub, in a mad grab to reach a towel to step upon. "This is insane."

Jake pulled the towel that Kit had thrown over the shower rod down on the floor, pressed it

down over the puddles of water before Sam's feet. Sam stepped on it as her weight shifted towards him. "I know."

"I mean not being able to stand on tile with a bit of water on it." Sam shook her head, picking her way to the door, shuffling the towel under her feet towards the hallway. "I should have checked, but I really had to go."

"I don't want him here." Jake said, not liking the knowing look that came over Sam's face. She didn't know everything, didn't know what he was feeling, not with one glance.

Sam's palm was flat against his chest, smoothing down the cotton of his shirt, fingers pressing into the faded fabric that molded to the heat of his body. Jake felt his heartbeat kick up as a small smile ghosted across her face. "It's not so bad."

Jake didn't agree. On top of all of this other bullshit, he had to deal with feet coming up the stairs. Before Jake could say one word, Sam pushed off into her room, leaving him to face Kit and his arched eyebrow with a passive expression.

"You're going to get in trouble hanging out behind closed doors." Kit admonished, "You better watch out."

Jake shoved past him, followed Sam into her room, and very pointedly, shut the door.

 _Now she walks these hills, in a long black veil_

 _She visits my grave, when the night winds wail_

 _Nobody knows, nobody sees_

 _Nobody knows, but me_

 _Long Black Veil_ , Johnny Cash

Sam stared at the groceries she knew Kit had purchased when he'd run into Darton, not that he'd picked up anything other than his 'basics' for his own use. She'd just come in from River Bend, and opened the fridge to grab something to drink, in difference to the warm weather. She'd reached for flavored water, and had brushed her fingers along the side of a six-pack of beer.

Sam stared at the beverages for a long moment, shut the fridge, and looked again to make sure she was seeing them. She'd hallucinated before, but never about alcoholic beverages in a house that had a no drinks policy. In the first place, they were pretty firm in the methodistic roots of that conviction, and in the second, there was a strong genetic component towards alcoholism on Max's side of the family. Max had a strong sense of fear towards even the discussion of anything alcoholic, and she suspected that it was a topic she and Luke had agreed upon independently and together.

Sam took the beers out of the fridge and considered her options. She knew in an instant what she had to do. It took her a minute to figure out opening the bottles fluidly, but she did it. Staring at the caps on the counter, she knew what she had to do.

Sam made a decision. She knew she would be bringing ire on herself, but she didn't really care. She could not risk Max finding these bottles, not when she had already found a bunch of bottles in the upstairs garbage. She'd barely got those out of the house without anyone seeing them, and dropping them off for recycling with Jen's help had been the limit of what she was going to do to cover for Kit.

She was doing this to spare Max heartache. She began to pour the beer into the down the drain, knowing that the missing bottles from the packs would have to be Kit's own problem. Sam made quick work of pouring out the beers. She knew that every step she took meant she was closer still to being discovered, but she knew her course and would stay it.

Sam grabbed a box from the summer kitchen, and put all of the glass bottles into it. She stood them up like perverse milk bottles, and began to hide them in the back of the closet in the summer kitchen. However, just as her hand reached to shut the box in the dark behind the rag bags and detritus of life, Sam had a second thought.

Gamely, she went to the upstairs trash. As luck would have it, there were no beer bottles. Sam didn't stop to consider her relief. She reached to close the lid, and in doing so, shifted the paper on top of the can. Beneath it, rested several empty bottles of alcohol. As she headed downstairs, Sam considered the labels, and knew that no matter how she spun it, this was not a few beers with dinner.

Even so, if he wanted to drink, why not talk about it? Why not assert that he was an adult who might do as he pleased as a guest in his parent's home, and do so openly? It was the hiding that worried Sam, the hiding, and the things Jen had told her to look for when trying to figure this out. Sam knew she was going to have to confront Kit out of concern or tell Luke, but she hadn't yet figured out how.

Gal panted in the kitchen, and Sam promised her, "I'll talk to him tonight."

Sam went into the living room to grab her backpack, and saw an empty glass on the side table. She knew that Kit was out in the barn doing some useless menial tasks, because he hadn't been awake this morning to get started on the day. On the shelf beneath the table top, she found his latest beverage of choice.

Sam dumped that, too. Then, and then, she waited. She pulled out her schoolwork for the afternoon and set to writing, knowing that the time could be spent usefully, even if she was distracted. She didn't have to wait more than twenty minutes. She pretended to ignore Kit as he tramped into the kitchen. She saved the current draft of her paper, and looked over at Kit's back as he faced the fridge from where she sat at the opposite side of the kitchen table.

Sam stiffened, steeling her spine, when the fridge closed with a thunk. She did not look up, but instead kept her eyes on her work as her mind whirled. Right about now, Kit was seeing that the beer was gone, if the way he was pushing aside items were any indication. He paused, shut the door, and opened it again.

"Seen my beer?" He asked, gruffly turning around. Sam knew in an instant that he was more than half-drunk. She knew the signs as well as anyone who had significant exposure to not only the medical and psychological aspects of alcoholism and alcohol dependency, but also as someone who lived in rural America. More than half of her high school class drank to one degree or another, not to mention the rampant drug problems in Nevada and rural communities.

Sam admitted the truth, her gaze flitting over him lightly. "Yes."

Kit's face was inscrutable, though his eyes were pained and bloodshot. He went to the cupboard and reached down another glass. "Don't tell me you drank my beer."

"No." Sam shut the lid of her laptop, because she wanted to see his face when she told him the truth. "I poured it out. And the whiskey, too."

He glared, and shoved a hand through his shaggy haircut, "Why would you go and do a fool thing like that?"

"You know the rules about liquor in the house." Sam did not tell him that she was trying in vain to cover for him. There were only so many times she could imagine that he could avoid the gaze of his parents. He was crying out for help, and she was trying to provide it without causing more pain between everyone in the process, "Given the family history of…"

"Sam! Jesus Christ!" Kit exploded, very obviously triggered by what she had not yet been allowed to say, "A few beers does not make me some kind of drinker."

"No," Sam agreed, knowing that he had gone so far beyond a few beers since breakfast that it didn't bear consideration, "but your circumstances are stressful. I just don't want to see it become a coping mechanism." Sam came to her point, knowing that there would be no real conversation between them. "When I had my accident, I was going through a lot, and I really benefitted from talking to a professional. There's somebody good about an hour from here. You know, I just wanted you know that I know what it feels like—"

Once again, Kit wouldn't let her speak. "Oh, so Debbie Do-Gooder rears her frizzy head."

"Excuse me?" Sam did not take his words to heart. He was in pain, and he wanted to cause pain. He was deflecting, because although she had not told him she knew of the troubles he was experiencing, she had alluded to it. She had been trying to build some trust and empathy.

She knew what it felt like to stare at a bottle of pain pills and want to swallow the whole of it, just to stop feeling. She would have, once upon a time, done anything to stop feeling the weight of the universe upon her shoulders. Irrespective of her past suicidal ideations, she had been in the same boat he was sitting in right now.

"At least admit why you did it." Kit spat through clenched teeth, "To force some kind of family meeting, some sort of discussion."

She'd actually done it to give him the space to have that conversation without her meddling further. Clearly, he didn't see it that way. He wanted facts, so she would give him facts. "I couldn't stand you disrespecting your parents in their own living room! There are rules in life, Kit, for a reason, and you don't get to break them." She knew. She had stood on the very precipice of utter destruction. The main rule of life was that it had to be lived. There was no escape, no time out. "Nobody does."

"You know what I'd like?" Kit asked, his tone dropping into something sing-song and chilling. He continued without waiting for her encouragement, "I'd like you to be the grown up you say you are and stop pretending my family, my parents, have anything to do with you. I'd like you to remember that at the end of the day, Sam, that there's no question of who belongs here, who at the end the of the day will be left standing if you want to play this game."

Those words played on her deepest fears and he knew it. Still, Sam didn't so much as flinch. She didn't so much as blink. "We don't always get what we want, do we?" Sam returned, "I'm not going to enable you. I'm not going to leave, either." Sam continued calmly, "You see, I see you. I see you, Kit. And right now, from where I'm sitting, you don't look so functional, not when you're spending 90% of your days here watching ESPN to avoid explaining why your eyes are bloodshot, you shake, and you sleep all day."

"You're not my sister." Kit replied, "You're nothing but an insecure child who has so many problems at home she sticks her nose into other people's homes."

Sam grinned, "Welcome to the club, Christopher." While Sam had his attention, aghast at the use of his full name, "Touch my cough meds again and I'll call the cops so fast your drunk head will spin to the point that it'll sober you up."

Kit swallowed, "That's a pretty big accusation."

Sam nodded, and opened her computer with a tap of the trackpad and the swift tap of her password. This conversation was over. She'd offered support. As was his right, he'd declined it. In doing so, Sam had reframed the dynamics of their interactions. She was nobody's enabler and dealer, nor was she anyone's fool. "You don't need to waste your breath denying it. I've got pictures. For your information, you'd need a vat of it to do you any good."

With that, Sam spun her computer around to show him the snapshots the hidden camera had taken. She knew it had been a little wild to actually use that spy camera Adam had gifted her one year at Christmas. However, she simply hadn't been able to shake the hunch that her missing cough syrup was connected to Kit, though she wasn't about to make accusations without proof.

Sam left the pictures blown up on her screen, and stood up. "Get help, Kit. You need it."

With that, she opened the kitchen and walked outside after Singer, whose happy yips and yaps called her into the spring afternoon. They were leaving for San Fransisco in the morning, and she was determined to enjoy her day.

 _People sayin' that I've hit rock bottom_

 _Just 'cause I'm living on the rocks_

 _It's a broken hearted thinkin' problem_

 _So pull that bottle off the wall_

 _People say I got a drinkin' problem_

 _But I got no problem drinkin' at all_

 _They keep on talkin'_

 _Drawing conclusions_

 _They call it a problem, I call it a solution…_

 _Drinkin' Problem_ , Midland

 ** _Feedback cherished. This is incredibly AU, and speaks to a perspective that is not meant to demonize people who are ill, only show that it is, in fact, a family illness. Kit won't be the focus of the this narrative, but his own growth does play a part. I will be going over my other WIPs in time and updating them in tandem with this work._**


	2. Chapter 2

**_Guest: Thank you very much for the warm welcome. I know this story is a bit slower to get to the point, perhaps, but I'm so glad you'll be sticking around. If you feel inclined to review again, let me know it's you! :)_**

 ** _Jump4Life! Massively thrilled to see you. All my love. Thanks for being my buddy all these years. WhatAreFears, we're going live on ao3 as soon as I publish this and set up the story over there. I loved talking today. DressageQueen, thank you so much for your continued friendship and support! It was a total thrill to see you favorite this story!_**

 ** _Warnings: Mild cursing._**

* * *

 _Could this be magic, my dear?_

 _My heart's all aglow_

 _Could this be magic?_

 _If this is magic_

 _Then magic is mine_

 _Magic is Mine,_ The Dubs

Sam's knees pressed tightly against one another as she sat in her wheelchair so they wouldn't knock together. She knew her feet were shaking in nervous tensity, but she hoped her shoes hid the trembling she could not control. Sam cast her gaze upward, and let her eyes drift over the words gilded into the wood over the door of the gothically inspired building. _Orange Grove College for Women._

She did not know why she was so nervous. Orange Grove had always been on her list, but Merchand near Baltimore was her first choice, largely because she had never seen the Eastern Seaboard. They had a great journalism program. They were very cutting edge, and didn't place too many major requirements on students.

She had long ago weighed things and decided that She was a strong applicant. And yet, something about finally standing in this place as her mother, grandmother, and great-grandmother had once done shook her deeply. She had never allowed herself to really think about being a student here, and now that she was walking towards the famed Tower, she felt something like destiny in the air.

The campus was small, and in this century shared resources with another larger liberal arts college nearby. She had heard all her life about Orange Grove, and had gotten cards in the mail from the Alumni association for her birthday and Christmas every year. Somehow, that knowledge of this place only made her want to look at it more closely after decades of dismissing the familiar as uninteresting. She couldn't shake the feeling that something big, whether she agreed with it or not in her conscious mind, was happening at this moment. It rattled her.

Sam pushed away her sudden case of unexpected nerves and went up the ramp that led her past the stairs and around the corner of the building to a side door. There was an electronic access button, bright blue on a post near the door, which she used with gladness. It wouldn't do to arrive to the interview and personalized tour covered in sweat and panting.

The inside of the building carried the gothic theme onward, and Sam knew that had she been walking, her shoes would have echoed in the grandiose space on the set-apart campus. Material called this campus an urban oasis. Sam would have described it as carefully pastoral, in the sense that the campus had made few concessions to urban growth and sprawl over the decades.

The art on the walls made the space feel cosy, despite the stately tenor of the space. Sam tried not to think about her mother walking down this long hallway towards admissions, tried not to think of her father bumping into her mother and changing history, at least as far as her existence was concerned.

She wasn't sure how successful she was, even though the building was largely quiet at this mid-morning hour. The thoughts of her mother brought her peace as she made her way carefully to admissions, opened the door with yet another button embedded in the wall, and announced herself at the intake desk. "I have a eleven o'clock interview with Sister Gloria."

The student at the desk greeted her and asked her to wait just a moment. Sam made her way to the small waiting area, and took in the photographs on the walls. There were photographs of the various classes on the walls, though the groupings she could see were about five years too late to identify her mother or aunt, never mind her grandmother.

Sister Gloria arrived promptly, her appearance putting Sam in mind of Aunt Sue, save for the wooden cross necklace she wore over her ample chest. "Samantha, I'm Sister Gloria. How did you find your trip out from Nevada?"

Sam greeted her, and replied, "It's a nice time of year to make the drive. Thank you for seeing me today."

Sr. Gloria responded in kind, and led Sam back through the waiting room and into her office. "We'll just have a bit of an interview so that I can better tailor your tour to your expressed interests. Shall we?"

Sam noted that a chair across from Sr. Gloria's desk had already been removed. It was an ideal space to park her chair. When they were both seated and Sam had refused the offer of some water, Sr. Gloria began, "Well, why don't you tell me a little bit about what's led you to apply to Orange Grove?"

Sam tried not to let her eyes wander to the panoramic view behind the Admission's Director's desk, and focused on her words. It was best to address the elephant in the room forthrightly. "I do know that when I began to look at colleges, I was hesitant to consider Orange Grove."

"I do understand the desire to forge one's own path in life." Sr. Gloria allowed, knowing full well that Mama's family had been attending Orange Grove in an unbroken chain of sisterhood since 1937.

"It wasn't so much that urge," Sam replied, somehow trusting this woman beyond her own prior decision not to mention her mother at all. She didn't want to be anyone's charity case, or to rely on connections to get anywhere, "as it was a desire to make sure that I want to be here for my own reasons and not because I'd jump at the chance to get to know my mother, in some way."

"I think your mother would have wanted that for you." Sr. Gloria was clearly unafraid of touchy subjects and Sam respected that about her, "I knew her well enough to know that she would have wanted you to find the best fit for you. I'm gratified to be a part of that process, no matter the outcome of the committee's decision."

Sam continued, "I just wanted to be sure I was choosing a school for the right reasons. I applied because I believe I owe it to myself to explore Orange Grove as any perspective student might. I want to see if I could make a place for myself here irrespective of any family members that might have come here before me."

"I think that is a very reasoned and thoughtful perspective." Sr. Gloria answered, opening the file on her desk. "I will therefore refrain from our usual speech about historical context, as I'm sure your Aunt Susan has told you enough of her own storied past in our halls."

Sam found herself smiling, "I've been well briefed. She told me not to mention her name to you or I might find myself on the reject pile out of sheer trepidation on the school's part."

Sr. Gloria's face sobered for a long second, and it took Sam a moment to discern that she was holding back laughter. "We don't scare half so easily, my dear."

Sam affirmed that she was glad to hear that, and the interview got off to a fine start. Sam answered the typical questions about her application, elaborated where required, and explained her situation as best she was able, "I've enjoyed my online classes, but I'm looking forward to being part of a community."

"We're very proud of the work we do here, and our vibrant student life." Sr. Gloria rose from her seat, "Shall we get started on that tour, then, Sam?"

Sam fell into pace alongside Sr. Gloria as they went out another accessible entrance. "Now, you've noted you'd not be living on the campus, but would you like to see the accessible dorms?" Sr. Gloria led them down a path, where they came to a concrete fork in the road, "Then again, you might be more interested in the art department."

Sam made her choice quickly, and they headed on a tour of the largest building on campus. It was on the opposite end of the quadrangle that was flanked by Tower's hill. Sam tried to be cognizant of the fact that Sr. Gloria had arranged this individual tour largely because the main tours used stairs and went places on campus she would not be easily able to access.

When Sam had called to join a group tour, she had but mentioned the chair so as to get the campus map with the accessible demarcations. The school had offered a tour that had been scheduled within moments, and a personalized one at that. Sam knew it was all admissions work, but it spoke to a responsive and thoughtful school.

Sam knew that she would never be a traditional student. She would never live in the dorms, be a part of that stream of things. Even if the suites were really accessible, the dorms weren't safe. She needed, even now, too much support to really feel safe considering living in that communal environment. Besides, the dorms didn't allow men inside beyond the parlors.

As they walked along in tandem, Sam found herself looking out to the pond where ducks lived happily as Sr. Gloria chatted about the campus. There, along the pond, sat the Senior Seats. They were stone benches limited to seniors, where they would sit and plan their futures, or so legend went. In decades past, women went there to consider proposals. Now, it was far more common to evaluate grad school offers with the help of the wise water spirits said to guard the benches.

For a long second, Sam thought she saw herself sitting there, on the bench under the tree. Her hair was shorter, and she was wearing clothes she didn't own, but she thought she saw herself sitting there all the same. She shook it off, and turned her attention to Sr. Gloria, with the firm notion to not to mention to her flight of fancy to Aunt Sue.

After all, it was probably the uncommonly bright sunlight playing tricks on a stressed mind.

 _Are you goin' away with no word of farewell?_

 _Will there be not a trace left behind?_

 _I could have loved you better, didn't mean to be unkind;_

 _Oh, you know that was the last thing on my mind._

 _You had reasons a-plenty for goin',_

 _This I know, this I know._

 _And the weeds have been steadily growin',_

 _Please don't go, please don't go._

 _The Last Thing on my Mind,_ The Seekers

Sam toured the art studios, the photography dark room, and peeked into classrooms. She learned about club and internship opportunities when she toured the Student Center. She had lunch with a group of students, knowing that they would like reflect on her as part of the admissions process as much as she would reflect on them as part of the evaluation process. The day was jam packed with activity and movement.

She resisted the urge to go hide in the bathroom several times. She met more students, faculty, and staff than she could count. She was invited to prospective student events no less than three times, and received alerts for four friend requests on Facebook, not that she really used it other than to keep up with Matrona's social whirl and various organizations regarding the wild horses and efforts to save the rivers and streams in the West.

She spent most of that time with Sr. Gloria as her escort and companion before the Sister ushered her into a into another wing of the large academic building and then into another wood-paneled classroom, "Now, we couldn't get you into a course audit today in your chosen majors, for which I do apologize."

"Just promise me it's not calculus." Sam said, only really half-joking.

Sr. Gloria placed a hand against her breast in mock outrage, as the clock tower chimed the hour. "Don't tell me you inherited the Fuller math phobia, too."

"What can I say?" Sam asked, folding her hands in her lap, primly, and making no mention of her brain damage. "I got the hair, too, Sister."

Before Sr. Gloria could speak, another person entered the small classroom. Sam looked over to the doorway to see whom she surmised to be the professor opening the wooden door and letting herself inside briskly.

Quickly, Sr. Gloria greeted the younger woman, "Dr. Green, this is Samantha Forster. Sam, this is Dr. Green. She chairs the Social Work department here at Orange Grove."

"Thank you for welcoming me into your classroom, Dr. Green." Sam was very careful to mind her manners, as Dr. Green looked the sort to demand that sort of thing. Even so, basic civility was basic civility. She would have extended it anyway, but Dr. Green seemed the sort to put stock by it more than most, just by the way she moved, precisely and in measured gestures.

"I'm very glad to meet you." Dr. Green replied, setting her bag on the desk by the wooden podium. "Sister, class will let out at the usual time."

"I'm off, then, ladies." Sr. Gloria swanned away, and Sam gathered that she would see her once more.

Dr. Green began to move the desks in the room into something resembling a loose circle. Sam offered to help, but Dr. Green thanked her and declined her offer of assistance. Sam listened gratefully when she was informed that she was sitting in on a Helping Relationships Seminar for juniors and seniors. Dr. Green did not engage her in much conversation, and this, Sam knew, was intentional.

Sam tried to stay back as young women began to arrive in clusters. However, three or four pairs of eyes looked her way as they settled into what were clearly their customary seats. There was no room for her in the circle.

Sam wasn't quite sure what to do. Memories of being excluded from circles lingered hotly in her mind. Still, she knew this was an interview. Even if it wasn't, she wasn't about to be relegated to the side. She wasn't a vulnerable kid anymore. She knew how to advocate for herself, and so took the brakes off of her chair, and lifted her hands to the wheel rims.

One blonde in a scarf and equestrian boots smiled, and bid her hello as Sam moved towards her, and slid her chair over to the left. "Is that enough room for you?"

Quickly, Sam rolled forward the final few inches into the space, and tried to gauge the edge of her chair with the legs of the wooden chairs, "Yes, thank you."

The girl on her other side smiled, as Dr. Green slipped from the room, having forgotten some material or other in her office, "I'm Felicity."

"Sam." Sam replied, introducing herself, "I'm here interviewing for a transfer position."

"I've been through the dual interview process." The girl across from her, one with a wide smile and dark eyes, nodded in low-toned commiseration, "It was the longest day of my life thus far."

Sam did not say that she had previously experienced much longer days. Near Death Experiences tended to alienate potential friends.

"They put you girls through the ringer." Girl-who-was-not-Felicity agreed as she pulled a folder from her bag in tandem with her classmates, "There's half the acceptance rate for transfers that there is for traditional applicants. I'm sure you're a shoe-in."

"I wouldn't say that." Sam blurted, thinking over those numbers very quickly. Even with her lack of math skills, she knew that hill was steeper still than the one that dominated the edge of campus and provided its defining landmark. "I'm just hoping my portfolio speaks for itself."

"Oh, you're a fine arts major?" Another girl in the circle interjected, her sleek dark hair pulled up with neon clips. When she'd walked in, she'd casually hung a wrap jacket over the back of her chair.

Before she could do anything but acknowledge the young woman and nod, Dr. Green returned in a whirl of brisk energy and commenced with the seminar.

Sam was, rightfully, contented to watch and reflect on her observations. She learned that Not-Felicity's name was Maritza, and the artsy girl's name was Taja. She learned that the course was a senior-level seminar in building practical competencies for social work majors. Sam hadn't read the materials, but she understood that the whole point was to understand what to do in these practical examples.

Dr. Green continued outlining the next mock-client. "Your client has been charged with a serious crime. He has been ordered by the courts to see you, not as evaluation for a conviction or mitigating circumstances, but rather as a client during the plea bargaining process. It is not yet known what his sentence will comprise." Dr. Green glanced around her circle, "What are some things you think should be discussed in session through the context?"

Sam listened interestingly as the class dove in and explored the potential issues and barriers this client was facing. She did note, however, that not one of them mentioned the very real likelihood that he would be incarcerated. It seemed to her that this was an oversight.

Carefully, in the free-flowing room, she interjected at a sudden burst of silence when the class' train had run out of steam, "Discussing what jail might be like might be profitable. It's very possible that, given the nature of his crime, that he'd spend over a decade there." Sam thought back over what she'd been told of this man, "Do we know if he has any understanding of the corrections system?"

"That's a good point." Aletha, the student across from her who had discussed her own interview and application process, agreed. "Preparing him for the potentiality of jail is important."

The class then moved along into discussing the intricacies of such a venture. Sam was glad she had, if nothing else, shown Dr. Green that she could participate in course work, while thinking on her feet and adjusting to a new environment. Sam realized with blinding clarity that the interview process required she be placed in a course wherein she had little background and no stated interest. It was all part of the evaluation.

At the close of the class period, several of the students invited her to get coffee with them. Sam was genuine in her regret. Instead, she waited with Dr. Green for Sr. Gloria to come back and finish up the day they had shared together.

Dr. Green, as she cleaned up her bag's contents, observed, "You added a great deal to the course today, Sam. Should you be here at Orange Grove in the Fall, I'd like you to stop by my office during the advising period."

Sam promised that she would do so. She had no real interest in being a social worker, but the class had been fun. It had spoken to real concerns, real issues, and she knew there was an active social work club on campus. She thought perhaps Dr. Green could provide more information therein.

Sr. Gloria appeared in the door in a constrained whirl of energy. "Dr. Green, you don't mind if I take Miss Forster?"

"Not at all, Sister." Dr. Green gathered up her things as she had been near to doing, and added, "Samantha, my office is at the corner of this hall before you enter into the Sociology block."

Sam's mind was whirling as Sr. Gloria took her the long way, and the flattest way, back to the Tower. She thought she did everything she needed to do to leave. She hoped she remembered to say goodbye, but after meeting all the students she had this morning during the tour, being introduced to various places and faces on campus, eating in the dining hall for lunch with some Women's Studies majors, and then attending this class, she was people'd out. Sam left, therefore, with her messenger bag full of documents and her mind full of a conclusion she had never expected.

 _I knew her mind was changing_

 _By the roving of her eye_

 _By the roving of her eye_

 _By the roving of her eye_

 _I knew her mind was changing_

 _Loving Hannah,_ Mary Black

Jake stared at the email he hadn't opened, knowing that whatever it said was echoed by the letter he'd hidden in his bag. He knew that he had to open it. He had less than three weeks before the National Reply Date came upon him. All of his interviews had been done since February and notifications had come quickly after that. He'd done everything methodically by the book.

He'd had some rejections. Everyone did. They didn't bother him. What bothered him was the acceptance letters. He felt overwhelmed by the responsibility of this choice. Still, he knew that the only thing he could not overcome was not knowing. He set aside his phone.

There were some things he could only accept in black and white, printed before him. He supposed in this way he was still something of a luddite, even if he did now own Quinn's hand-me-down iPhone. Jake therefore, sitting in the truck waiting for Sam to finish her on-campus interview, began to rip the envelope slowly.

The crisp paper felt heavy in his hands. He wanted to have a clear-cut choice before him. He wanted black and white. He wanted clarity. Taking a deep breath, Jake pulled the letter from the envelope and began to read.

 _Dear Mr. Jacob Ely,_

 _Congratulations!_

The paper fell from his hands before the rest of the words were deciphered by his brain. He wished he had been rejected. There was a choice before him now, a choice he would have to make on his own. He now had the option of being in San Fransisco, at a medical school he'd never dreamed would offer him a spot.

He'd applied, but never thought he'd get admitted. Sam had put in an application to Orange Grove with the promise that he would shoot for the moon and send this application himself. He'd had no illusions that he'd be offered a spot. And yet…

He had been offered to one of the best medical schools in the world. They had a possible future in a city where they had family. He had a spot waiting at a school that offered a concerned amount of energy to the plight of the rural underserved. When he'd visited, the students had seemed sincere in the gravity of their work, and open to the welcoming of new MS1s. He hadn't seen that everywhere, and it had spoken to him.

Jake startled hard when there came a knock on the window. His heart was rabbiting his chest as he looked across the seat, and saw Sam fumbling with the door handle. Blindly, he reached over and unlocked the door before climbing out to load the chair.

"How did it go?" Jake asked, trying his best to smooth out his face. He wanted to tell her, and he would, but something held him back.

The look on her face was disbelieving. Sam shoved her bag in the back seat as she spoke, "It went surprisingly well."

Jake's heart skipped. "That's good."

Sam rubbed her back as she stood, putting her weight against the passenger door he'd opened. "I'm exhausted."

He knew she was exhausted. He could see it in the drawn lines of her face, and the way she fumbled through getting out of her chair. He felt it in the way she didn't automatically call him out for the shakes he couldn't quite contain.

Further, Jake empathized. Interviews always made him feel like a wrung out dishcloth. After them, he'd tended to sit in silence for a few hours. "I know."

Sam took his hand, and boosted herself into the truck. Jake folded up the stair, and shut the door quickly to avoid more air escaping. As he put the chair in the back, he saw Sam's head loll against the seat as her body relaxed. She'd taken off her shoes, then.

Now was not the time to have a conversation about anything. Before walking around the truck to open his door, Jake resolved that he would not be mentioning the contents of his letter for a time. There was no point to it. He had a place in Baltimore. Sam loved Marchand, and had only undertaken the interview out of a sense of duty and curiosity, neither of which comprised good reasons to attend a school. He knew she'd be admitted. He felt it in his bones.

However, when they'd both been admitted to schools in Baltimore, they'd agreed to cement their first choices. And yet, Jake had not sent in the paperwork. He'd told himself it was because he wanted to be measured and thoughtful, but now that he had seen the letter on the floorboard of the truck, he knew his hesitation had been based on that letter. He wanted…

It couldn't matter right now. He couldn't go down that road right now. Maybe later, he would be able to see a way beyond Sam getting on a plane for Maryland, and him staying in California. Maybe later, he would see a way beyond her accepting a school she didn't love to stay with him, or vice versa.

He knew he'd do that in a heartbeat. If her heart was at Marchand, then then they would go East. He had an offer from a great school there, and though the process would require a lot of loans, he had more support on offer than a great many admitted applications. Jake knew then that he would silence the voice in the back of his head that was telling him to log on and accept the offer right now. A rash decision would come to no good end.

"Jake?" Sam murmured from where she was sitting next to him, her weight resting against the door.

"Yeah?" He got over, knowing that they would be turning soon. The only place they were heading now was back to Sue's place. Sam, as he had once been when he'd been in her shoes, was out of spoons to deal with anything else today.

"I…" Sam began to babble, a sure sign of nerves, "I don't want this to alter our plans. I also don't want to not tell you this because I think if I don't it could be a huge problem for us later. I don't want that. I also don't want you to think I'm going to do anything about it. I don't want to get ahead of myself here."

"Why don't you tell me what you do want, then?" Jake wondered what she was going on about, knowing that if it was something that could incite her to ramble along, that it was something he wanted to get to the heart of as best he could.

"I think I could see myself at Orange Grove." Sam blurted, her voice filled with a hesitant wonder as she began to talk about her day in excited detail.

"You think or you know?" Jake echoed her statements from a couple of years ago when she rattled to a stop. The similarities seemed staggering. Luckily, they hit a red light, leaving him to stop the Scout at the head of the line waiting to turn.

Jake was able to look at her as she swallowed. After a long moment, she continued, "I know. I guess what I'm really saying is that it was a really good day." Sam continued along, "Aunt Sue said if I saw myself sitting the stone benches, well…" She grinned, "That was a ghost tale."

"Well." Jake started moving when somebody behind them beeped. The light had turned green in the last ten seconds, evidently, and he hadn't seen it, "I think you should do it, if you want to."

"I didn't say that." Sam snapped as they continued onward toward Sue's home. "I simply meant that I had judged it too quickly. It's a nice place."

"I heard what you didn't say." Jake disagreed, knowing that her enthusiasm was genuine. "If you get in, which I know you will, you should make the choice that seems right to you."

"We're going to Baltimore." Sam declared, her face taking on a mulish expression, "I do wish you'd stop spinning fairy tales and deal with reality, here."

They fell into a tense silence as they navigated the traffic. The silence was heavily punctuated by the occasional, "Can I get over?" on his part, and mutterings about traffic on Sam's part. They said nothing about the conversation that had crashed and burned between them.

When Jake had finally found a spot and parked the truck, he reached down and picked the letter up off of the floorboard, and placed it on the seat between them, "You're not the only person that can change their mind, you know."

Sam took the letter with a shocked, "Excuse me?"

"Read it." Jake advised, "You're the one making a mountain out of something that's not even a molehill."

Jake didn't remembered what exactly had been in the contents of the letter, but he remembered something along the lines of a scholarship and stipend. He remembered something about earning a place within the dual degree program, which was no small thing. He waited for her face to light up.

It never happened. Jake felt like she'd punched him, or pushed him off of a cliff into the La Charla.

Sam scanned it, and declared, "Don't act like this means anything to you."

"You know, a 'congratulations' would have been nice." Jake returned, oddly hurt by her reaction. He'd worked really hard for this moment, and she'd…

"Well, I'm sorry." Sam replied caustically, "Congratulations for getting into a school you don't want to attend."

"Oh, thanks a million. I actually want to go there, thanks so much for asking." Jake snatched the letter back when she folded it, and shoved it in the visor above his head, "So sorry your attempt at martyrdom was dashed."

Sam's face went puce. "Martyrdom!"

"You heard what I said." Jake retorted, knowing that she didn't want to face facts because it didn't fit some narrative in her head, "I'm not going to waste my breath repeating myself."

By the time they were in the house, they were on the verge of shouting at one another. Well, Sam was on the verge of shouting. He simply had nothing left to say, and would have welcomed the silence that the initial moments of their ride home had promised.

"Did you ever think, for a single second, that I said I didn't want to attend because I thought I wouldn't get in?" Jake asked, knowing his voice was flinty and low. Anger burned brightly in his blood.

Sam flopped down on the sofa, her hands tremulous from not only the trek up the stairs but also her own unconcealed annoyance, "Oh, sure. You doubted your academic ability." Sam scoffed, "What universe did I wake up in this morning?"

"One where I'm just as human as you are, Sam." Jake snapped, and turned towards the bedroom.

Whatever response she might have had was drowned out by the slam of the bedroom door.

 _Tell me a piece of your history_

 _that you're proud to call your own…_

 _Can you fill this silence?_

 _You must have the words in that head of yours_

 _And oh, oh can you feel the silence?_

 _I can't take it anymore_

 _The Silence,_ Bastille

Sam stared out the open door across the stairs she was facing. She had never managed to navigate them with fluid ease. No matter how much she improved, stairs were the bane of her existence. The go-bag at her feet was the only thing helping her to feel as though she was still standing in the doorway, and not falling down the steep stairs on the other side of the porch.

Aunt Sue stood nearby, her bright blue nails pushing aside the curtain, to peek out the window as they waited by the front door, "Well, there he is. You better get a move on."

Sam agreed and picked up her bag, and though it threw her off balance, she managed to haul to to the door and pass it off to Jake. To save time, Jake had acted quickly on moving the truck to an empty spot across the street. This way, the time could be spent navigating the stairs and not trekking to the parking spot they'd found when they had last moved the Scout.

In a sense, Sam was glad to be in the city, even if these stairs still made her dizzy. She needed the space to think. They also needed the space to be away from the ranch, in the hopes that the passage of time would change things enough that when they arrived home, that they would find Kit being more open about his struggles and their parents more open to seeing what was in the front of their faces.

The argument they'd had two days ago had passed without discussion, beyond sincere apologies and more conversation to amend hurt on both sides. They hadn't revisited the subject after mending fences. Sam's acceptance letter to Orange Grove had arrived via email. She knew, by silent accord, that they would talk later.

With everything going on at home, Sam felt like they needed to focus on what points of unity they had remaining. Things were difficult enough without forcing issues that weren't yet wildfires. The whole thing would come to a head in time, but she wasn't going to push it.

Time crawled as she went down the stairs, left hand tight on the banister and right hand placed firmly in Jake's own hand. By the time she came to the bottom of the steps, her knees ached and her lungs heaved. Momentarily, she leaned onto Jake. "I'm not used to this anymore."

Jake stepped closer to allow a mother with a baby and a small child to pass them with her double jogging stroller. He couldn't imagine that woman pushing that huge stroller up the hills and holding it back from rushing down them, but he supposed that was part and parcel of Sam's point. "There's no reason you ought to be."

Sam was exhausted. Navigating the city was taxing, and she hadn't had much rest after the the lingering nausea long car rides still induced. She nodded gamely, and headed to the truck. By the time she crossed the road, she was glad she had the wheelchair for the long distances they'd be covering. The Starbucks at the end of the block was packed, but at least the hive of activity meant cars moved frequently.

Once she was in the truck, and had slid her buckle into place, Sam watched Jake start up the truck. They hadn't been on this journey since the winter chill had been thick in the foggy, chilly, air. It was now warm enough to be thankful for the cool air coming from the vents.

"Do you suppose this'll take more than a few hours?" Sam asked, "I don't relish the idea of trying to get back from the hospital in Friday traffic."

Jake pulled out from their spot along the sidewalk and agreed, "If that happens, we'll just pull off and camp out. It'd be quicker."

Sam knew that although he was joking, there was an enduring truth in his words. They merged into traffic, and Sam closed her eyes and whispered a silent prayer that today would speed by without comment by anyone she might meet. Given who she was meeting, that was unlikely, but a girl could dream.

 _But if I knew now what I thought I knew then_

 _Well, I guess I wouldn't be back here again_

 _You don't say I'm looking older,_

 _Even though I am_

 _Don't make me jump through hoops_

 _Because you know I ain't that kind…_

 _Back Here Again,_ Josh Hickman

"So," Ella looked at Sam over the rims of glasses Sam had never before seen. Obviously, the purple and yellow rectangular glasses were a new pair. There were a few new desk decorations on the shelves that lined the walls that ran perpendicular to the wide windows that dominated the back wall, but otherwise the sameness of Ella's office only served to show Sam how much had changed over time within her soul. "do you want to talk about it, or are you going to keep wasting your breath on other things?"

"Ella." Sam's ramble about school and the horses came to a stuttering halt. She noted that her hand was fisted in her skirt, drawing the wide hem tight against her knees. "I am updating you on my progress in life, as is the point of this visit."

"Actually, this isn't a formality." Ella leaned forward a bit and tucked her left foot behind her right ankle, "It isn't a given that I would recommend more sessions, and even then you're free to decline them. We all have small stressors that don't have to become things that should be—"

"This might be." Sam allowed, knowing full well that this was a concern that would likely take her decades of treatment to unpack. She bit the bullet. "Kit's home."

"Ah." Ella spoke, and there was a wealth of intonation in the word.

Sam thought back over the sessions she and Jake had undertaken with Ella, and wondered just exactly she had revealed. She was struggling with the tenor of her thoughts, and hated the idea that she wasn't being charitable to him right now. She didn't like Kit, but she wasn't judging him for his health and dependency right now. "What kind of 'ah' was that?"

"That was simply an 'ah,' Sam. It was an articulation of noise to affirm that I'd heard you." Ella replied, "There's no judgement in it. I take it you're less than pleased by this turn of events?"

"You might say that." Sam allowed, explaining the situation as aptly as she was able. She rattled to a stop after a moment of explanation, "I haven't told a soul I confronted him. I don't know how much more I can do. I will say that I'm in a little over my head."

"You're dealing with a complex set of concerns, Sam, for which you have no training and limited personal experience." Ella noted, "Given your history with Kit, and the family dynamic you both have roles within, it's no wonder you feel overwhelmed."

"It's just…" Sam reflected, "This came at a bad time."

"How so?" Ella opened the door for further exploration in her typical forthright fashion.

"Well, I want to go to Orange Grove, and I don't know if it's because I had a good impression of things there or because I'm antsy about being away from home right now." Sam admitted, "I know Jake's wondering how he could leave Darton County, knowing what's happening with Kit."

Ella had always been smart, even when Sam had hated that about her. Then again, she was alive because Ella was good at reading nuance, "There's a difference there for you."

"He's talking about med school in San Fransisco like it's the best thing ever. I think I want to stay closer. I think he's afraid to go farther." Sam summarized, "The difference is monumental."

"And…" Ella pressed.

Sam took a moment to gather her thoughts. "And I don't know how Kit's arrival informs that, only I know it does, somehow."

Ella gave her a long space of a few seconds, well aware that she needed it. This was hard to discuss, largely because of how heavily change and the prospect of it weighed upon her. "Have you shared your concerns with Jake?"

"Not as such." Sam replied, "Things have been tense. I've been trying to tell him that I don't think Kit means to stay, but the truth is, after what Kit said to me, I don't think he means to go. I do need to talk to him. But we argued, and…"

Ella helped her rarely, but when she did, it was only to facilitate more self-expression. "Everything's conflated."

"Yeah." Sam agreed, looking down at her hands and then back again, "I want Jake to follow his dreams. I know if I told him about Kit it'd be the nail in the coffin and he'd never go East." Sam thought for a long moment, "He said I wanted to be a martyr and I think that's how he feels."

Ella prompted, not for her own edification, but so that Sam could work through the muddle of her own thoughts. Somehow knowing this did not make the question easier to reflect upon, "How so?"

"He gave up everything for me. I know he did." Sam did not need to explain once more how Jake had finished his degree online, and had studied for the MCAT beside her hospital bed, how he had done everything he could do for the last three years to keep them balanced. "And he's set to do it again."

"I see." Ella replied.

Sam was glad that she did not have to explain some things to Ella, for Ella had seen them firsthand.

"We can't build a life on him giving up everything, every time something needs compromising." Sam got to the heart of the matter as best she was able, "I want to go to Orange Grove. I want to stay together. But if one of us bends, it needs to be me this time."

"Oh?" Ella vocalized.

Sam looked at her sharply, pulling her gaze away from the busy cityscape outside Ella's windows. Ella sat comfortably in her chair, her eyes on Sam and not on the clock behind Sam's shoulder. Suddenly, Sam realized that there was a bit of nuance that she needed to make clear to Ella, if only for her own peace of mind.

"Not because I can't survive being apart, if that's what you're asking." Sam replied, "I want to feel like an equal in our relationship when it comes time to put our money where our mouth is. We've always said no matter what, we'd stay together."

"You'd lay aside your wishes because he's done it more in the past?" Ella asked, seeking clarification for Sam's sake.

"No." Sam shook her head. This wasn't about giving up more for each other, like some kind of sacrifice olympics. This was about making choices individually and collectively, knowing that no matter what they chose for themselves that they were committed to facing their individual choices together, "I'd do it for our collective good, for him, for me, for our shared objectives."

"But you think he sees staying in San Fransisco as something he's doing for you?" Ella ventured, voicing the statement only so that Sam could reflect upon it, as was Ella's modus operandi.

"Yes." Sam sighed, then, adding, "And once again, the difference is monumental."

Behind her, the clock went _tock, tock, tock._

 _Can't seem to mind my own business_

 _Whatever I try turns out wrong_

 _I seem like my own false witness_

 _And I can't go on_

 _I cover my ears, I close my eyes_

 _Still hear your voice and it's telling me lies_

 _Telling me lies_

 _Telling Me Lies_ , Dolly Parton, Emmylou Harris, & Linda Ronstadt

"Will you repeat yourself?" Ayers asked, his eyes steady behind his glasses as Jake opened his eyes to face the words he'd found within himself.

Jake repeated the words he'd spent the last fifteen minutes working to articulate. "I'm apprehensive because Sam thinks I'm lying."

She hadn't said as much, but he could read her. She'd apologized for her lack of enthusiasm but she'd cautioned him to be sure it was what he really wanted. He wondered why she didn't think he knew his own mind.

Ayers did not shift against his leather chair, though Jake resisted the urge to do so. His feet were leaden upon the floor beneath him. "Why does that make you apprehensive?"

"I've never lied to her." Jake articulated, as firm in this truth as he had ever been about anything in his life, "I've never wanted to lie to her."

He was proud of that, largely because he thought it spoke volumes about their dynamic, the relationship they shared, and the bond they had cultivated over the years. He was taciturn and reluctant to voice his thoughts to many people, but he had never once lied to Sam in either commission or omission.

Except for that time with Matrona, which still ate at him. He regretted that, still. He'd learned something about himself and about their relationship from it, but it wasn't something he was going to repeat.

"There's more to this than that, wouldn't you say?" Ayers challenged him, peering from behind his wire-rimmed round glasses. Jake flexed his hands against the armrests of the leather chair. He had worked long and hard in this very chair, and he had to draw on a lot of that self-exploration to arrive at the core of his feelings.

"Well, I wonder how much she thinks I've lied to her." Jake admitted, "If it's the first place her mind goes, I have to ask why."

It wasn't the most charitable thought. It was undeniably true, however. His pulse jumped with the fear that, at one point or another, Sam had lied to him about something in life, though he wasn't

about to say that to Ayers. He knew she really hadn't lied to him anymore than he lied to her. He knew they both had parts of themselves they obscured and that wasn't his issue. His issue here wasn't about their privacy and individuality. He just wanted to know why she would think he was lying to her.

"Have you asked her that?" Ayers asked, his fingers twitching along the line of the armrest as he intentionally mirrored Jake's position.

"I just admitted it to myself." Jake resisted the urge to ask the other man how he could have possibly done that given that he'd been in the room with Ayers the entire time. Jake knew where Ayers was going, however. "I'm going to make the discussion a priority."

Ayers understood that the subject was closed. "Now, do you want to talk about your brother being home?"

"No."

"You didn't bring it up not to talk about it, Jake." Ayers challenged, "You don't need to have your mind made up about it to give yourself permission to explore it."

Jake knew that if he didn't say something, they'd sit here in silence for the rest of the session. He knew this was their check-in, but he thought Ayers had simply gotten lucky that things were happening right around the same time.

"It's not easy for me to admit that I hate the choices he's made." Jake elaborated, "I feel complicit in his lies to our family."

"You know, it takes a certain self-awareness to express uncomfortable truths with bald honesty." Ayers proposed, "How do you think he feels right now?"

"I don't need to develop empathy for him." Jake returned, "I know he's scared. He just acts like we haven't all been there. He's still got a chance to fix issues his life. He walks around like his troubles are an epic tragedy. No amount of empathy would help him get enough perspective."

"You feel a certain kinship for him?"

Jake nodded. Kit no doubt wanted to die. Jake thought him a bit dramatic given that he was laying in a bed of his own making. He could still fix things with Cricket. And yet, Jake envied him in his open expression of his desires. Jake had never felt like he'd had the right to own his own suffering after the accident. "I'm jealous of him."

"That's an interesting word to apply to a man who, in your own words, is struggling with staying sober after his wife left him, who quit his job and came home to his parents under a cloak of lies and half-truths." Ayers summarized.

"He's self-absorbed enough to make himself an innocent victim, even when he had a part in whatever happened." Jake explained, "I could never stop seeing the bigger picture, could never forget, not for a single second, the context of what happened."

He still couldn't, and both of the men in the room knew it. Jake envied Kit's ability to look their mother in the face. He envied that Kit was so utterly sure of his welcome, so sure of the place that would be provided him at Three Ponies. Jake had never really felt that way, that he as himself was owed all of the things Kit took for granted.

"I hate that I still see myself as lacking compared to him. I hate that I see that expressed in our family." Jake continued, "Even though I know objectively—"

Jake didn't know what he knew objectively. Half-formed thoughts floated across his mind, but he wasn't ready to voice them aloud. Ayers wasn't the person he needed to talk to about this, and he knew that now. He'd gotten what he needed out of the session.

He was face to face with his flaws and inadequacies. Jake didn't like feeling this way. He didn't like the fact that Kit was once again part of his world, was once again highlighting that he was the prayed for prodigal son. Jake was determined to own his baggage. He just didn't like having to see Kit, who was unwilling and unable to do that, across from him at the breakfast table. He'd worked too hard to get where he was to see Kit get there without merit or thought.

 _Oh jealousy, you tripped me up._

 _Jealousy, you brought me down._

 _You bring me sorrow, you cause me pain._

 _Jealousy, when will you let go?_

 _Got a hold of my possessive mind_

 _Turned me into a jealous kind_

 _How? How? How? Oh, my jealousy!_

 _Jealousy,_ Queen

They worked in tandem to clean up a small dinner and sat back down with a cake Sam had made. Sue was out with her friends. They went to dinner once a week, and this week, the absence of Sue's babble left an echo between them. His apprehension had faded once he'd understood its roots. In its absence, Jake hadn't figured out how to bring up a conversation he knew could very well set them back into that space if they weren't truly communicating. Even then, there was that risk, and he just didn't want to be uneasy any more. He just wanted to work through this together and come to a consensus.

It was Sam who brought up a discussion, with the opener that made his pulse skip, "There are a few things you don't know."

Jake quirked a brow, and allowed. He knew the cake in front of him was meant to soften this discussion, give him something to do, but his bite was halfway to his mouth before he set down his fork and responded, "I'm listening."

"We need, I think, to have two totally distinct discussions." Sam declared, "Do you want to start with school stuff?"

"Better the devil you know, I guess." Jake replied, watching as she set her fork beside her plate without even the pretense of eating her own slice. "For the record, I'm not lying when I told you I wanted to stay here."

"I don't think you're lying, Jake. You've never lied to me and you have no reason to start now." Sam clarified, "I think you're choosing San Fransisco for reasons that having nothing to do with your wants, and everything to do with the fact that you've gotten used to stepping up and sacrificing things for me."

Jake didn't see why she persisted in that perspective. "What do you mean?"

"Well, let's see." Sam ventured, "In the last three years, you've built your life around what had to be done to keep us together, to keep us both safe and functional."

Her hands were shaking, and Jake knew better than to reach out and soothe her right now. He wanted to, but he didn't do it.

Sam continued, "I don't need to give you the laundry list, you know it better than me. I just worry. You deserve more."

"That's not what this is." Jake asserted, wondering exactly what she thought he deserved. He had a place waiting for him that hundreds of other people would have gladly squashed him like a bug to have, and he dreams and goals that made succeeding there possible, "I've never felt that way, but I'm telling you, none of this has anything to do with the accident."

"There's nothing you wouldn't do for me." Sam told him, her green eyes flashing as she came to the core of a truth they shared in its entirety. He knew it was mutual in every possible way. The desire and will to give sacrificially was an element of their relationship they tried to keep in check for each other. "Nothing. But I'm begging you, don't do this for me. No matter how much you want to do it. Don't do this for me."

"I'm not doing this for you." Jake promised, knowing full well she needed more than those words, more than that promise. He just didn't know where she was going with all. All he could offer right now was a listening ear.

" You have to be sure. There is going to come a day," Sam elaborated, tilting her head in a nonverbal attempt to make sure he got where she was going, "and I pray it comes soon, because you deserve that, that no matter how much you love me…" Sam looked totally calm, so accepting of her words, "Where what you feel will never be enough against the mountain of sacrifices you made for me, if you keep on making them."

Jake paused for a long moment. He didn't see that in this situation, at all. All he saw was her being unwilling to listen because she was terrified that…oh. She was terrified that he didn't have the capacity to distinguish his own desires in this situation. She'd just said as much. "Your perceptions are skewed."

Sam reached for her fork, and something unclenched within Jake as she began to slice a bite of cake from her slice with the side of her fork, "How so?"

"I want to be here, because I want to be." Jake replied, "I'm asking you to trust me on that point. I'm not going to say you don't factor into my choice, because you do, but no more so than I factor into yours."

He knew the neither of them could quantify or exactly qualify that sense of things. He only wanted to express that he felt, objectively, that it was extended and returned in equal measure. He would elaborate if she wanted, but it wasn't as though he could easily express the knowledge that, yes, in the past, she had needed more from him, just as he had once needed more of her from her. That had changed, as it should have done, but there was balance between huddling close together in trauma, and not thinking of the other person at all. Both, in their own way, were cause for concern in his mind.

"Because of Kit?" Sam carefully looked away after she asked the question, likely in an attempt to give him some space to answer.

"No?" Jake asked, his eyebrows rising to meet his hairline, as she looked up at him, "Because our life is out here. Because we have friends and family here. Because it wouldn't require a plane ride to get home. Because I like the rural trauma rotation offered. Because when I was on the campus, the students seemed genuinely engaged with their work. Because the school offers an intentional view of rural medicine." Jake continued listing his reasons, "Because it just seems right for a multitude of reasons, one of which, yes, is your interest in Orange Grove."

Sam pressed onward, "But is it what you want?"

"I want it enough to know that I'm…" Jake couldn't quite find the right words to describe what he was feeling, "It's just a 'what if' that's going to stick with me. What if, you know?"

"I want that for you." Sam confessed, "More than anything, I want you to find your what ifs, and go after them."

"I want that for you, too." Jake nodded. "Is this settled, then?"

"I think so." Sam agreed, her face losing every bit of fear that had built behind her eyes over the last few days. Her confidence bloomed in the light there, as she exhaled, hesitating for a second before continuing. "I just have to say it, though. It deserves to be said. We could do the long-distance thing, if you want to be in Baltimore. Lots of people do."

"Not us." Jake posited, comfortable with that truth. He reached for his fork.

"No, I don't think so, either." Sam smiled in answer to the smile that he felt spread across his face, "The option's on the table from my end."

"I'd support you going to Baltimore, if that was your what if, Sam," He knew he would, too. It just wasn't lip service. It would be difficult, but they would make it work, and come out stronger and better for it, if it was she knew to be right in her soul, "but I'm not hearing you say that it is."

"It's the safe option." Sam revealed, "Somehow, it feels like it. I know what I want. I'm only really struggling because I always said I'd never go to Orange Grove."

She had always said that, as point of fact. Jake thought, maybe, that this was what people said when they'd made the best choice they could with the information in front of them. They all did. It was only that their own understanding of the facts before them had shifted, as had their choices as a result.

"It doesn't matter if Sue wants it, too." Jake advised, "What matters is that you want it for your own reasons. If the outcome is the same, that's whatever. You didn't get there on her ways and means. You did it in your own way."

"So did you." Sam affirmed, "For the record, I think they're lucky to have you. You don't need congratulations. They do." Sam put the matter to rest, "We've just got to be prepared for people to insinuate things."

"I don't see why it matters." Jake shrugged, knowing full well she meant their families starting things up on the basis of their congruent choices. They wouldn't see that they had come to this table with independent decisions already made, with their only goal being working out a plan on the basis of these adult, individual choices. They would read things into it.

"I'll remind you of that later." Sam promised, and the joy therein sparked his soul. Jake ate yet more of his cake, and swallowed.

He made an inarticulate sound of agreement. "What was the other thing?"

Sam shifted against the back of her wheelchair, her back cracking before she leaned forward to share her news. "I told Kit to get help."

"You did." Jake heard the infection of a question in his voice, but could not quite bring himself to ask her to reveal how that had happened.

"I did." Sam nodded, before explaining that she had confronted Kit about all of the empty bottles they had collected and pictures of him swigging her cough syrup.

Fury rushed through Jake in tandem with a new depth of fear for his brother. He knew Kit was in a bad way, but somehow that detail made it clear to him that, no matter the consequences, he had a duty to go to his parents with this information. He had a duty to his brother. He would want Kit, no matter their relationship, to know that Jake would always look out for him. Kit had never done it for him, but that didn't matter. At the end of the day, nothing mattered but the fact that Kit was sick. His brother was sick.

And yet, Jake hated himself for his subsequent thoughts. He'd seen too many ranches go under because the guy at the helm was stuck at the bottom of the bottle. It had happened in their own circle, even. Before Jed had gotten sober and gotten the ranch back after Slocum's legal troubles had come to light, he had ended up under the other man's thumb. It was a fate Jake dreaded for Three Ponies.

Jake admitted as much, hating himself for his truth, but being honest enough to express it. He added, "What's going to happen, Sam, to the ranch?"

"He doesn't want to run Three Ponies when the time comes." Sam's eyes were filled with compassion, as they reflected upon the knowledge that that day was coming. When Grandpa needed more support at Deer Path, Dad would shift there. It had been the plan for ages, "He wants to feel like he's powerful somewhere, until the road calls again."

"Sam." Jake pushed a hand through his close cropped hair, "He and Quinn are already buddy-buddy. He's back to being Mom's favorite. He's not going anywhere." When Jake added in the way that being home facilitated his illness, the conclusion was forgone.

Sam had a ready reply, "Even the best coddling gets old."

Then again, so did Jake. It was clear to him that she wasn't seeing the whole picture. "Dad's turned to him."

Sam agreed, sipping her water. "Luke's personable, and he's simply after him to get to work. You see your father turning to Kit. I see him riding him to get to work."

Jake sighed. She just wasn't seeing the whole thing for what it was, or could be. Things added up. She had the pieces, but refused to put together the puzzle.

Jake ate another bite of his cake as Sam spoke, "You seem to have made up your mind."

There was no changing this truth. He had tried when he was young, but there was no point. There was no altering any of this, and her putting the best construction on this did nothing. "I can't compete with him."

"No." Sam agreed, setting down her fork. "No, you won't ever be on his level."

Before Jake could do more than exhale brokenly, Sam continued along in a level tone of voice, "Let me tell you why. You are a great man, Jake."

He couldn't help but scoff and grip his coffee mug.

Sam wouldn't brook his disagreement. "Listen to me, you are. You have a level head on your shoulders, and you work every single day to take care of the people you love, and you give of yourself with a quiet steadfastness. People look at you, and they see so much. They see the kids who stop you in the grocery store, the way you treat the old ladies who fawn over you. You are a great man."

What Sam saw in him wasn't what everyone else saw. Her assessment of him made him deeply uncomfortable. "Sam."

"But to compare yourself to Kit is your failing. You are a great person, and he has had to work very, very, hard at becoming a good person." Sam made her point, though Jake did not exactly get it. She subjectively thought he was a better person. Of course she did.

She must have read his response in his face, because she insisted, "It simply has to do with your personalities, the way you see the world, your orientation to life and others around you. You always put others first. He doesn't, and while you both struggle not to go to extremes therein, it's shaped you both."

"What you're saying is that we're fundamentally different people and that…" Jake wanted to find the right words, but he didn't have them yet, "that I'm more mature? Is that your point?"

"I'm saying it's possible for one person to work hard at being a good person and to be commended for that, whereas another person doesn't have struggle with the basic fundamentals of what it means to be decent because who they innately are sets them up to work towards a greater expression of virtue, for all the pain that entails." Sam shoved her hairband back on her head gently, and thought for a long second.

After a moment, she asked, "Do you understand the difference?"

"I think you're being subjective, here." It meant a lot to him. He just didn't agree that he was somehow a better person. They were different, and Kit had always gotten the accolades for chores as a kid, whereas he and Quinn had just always done their bit without praise, and then later the expectation of it. That he remembered very clearly.

Jake put his napkin down next to his plate. He wasn't really in the mood for any more cake.

"You've both faced different challenges. There's no value judgement in saying you're facing different dragons." Sam continued onward, "But your challenges in this life are not his own, because you're learning different things. His jealousy radiates. He knows you are fundamentally different, and that you don't share his struggles, and his innate sense of inadequacy."

"He's sick right now." Jake replied, "I won't knock him for an illness."

Sam agreed, "I have the upmost compassion for where he is right now. Your differences and your inability to judge yourself on your own merits has nothing to do with him."

Jake understood then what Sam was saying. He had been measuring himself against Kit's standards, and finding himself lacking because he couldn't see the world as Kit did. It struck him as small-minded, immature, and selfish. Unless he missed the mark, he was pretty sure that Kit thought him boring, binary in his thinking, a stick in the mud, and stupid. He'd heard that and worse before from the man's own lips.

To clarify, Sam affirmed, "This has nothing to do with the drinking. Things have always been this way." Sam declared, "It's time you see it, too."

In the distance, they heard a car pulling up to the sidewalk. Sue was home. There was no more time to talk. Right now, Jake counted that as a blessing. He really needed to think. Was it possible that he didn't see Kit as a person? Was it possible that, even after all these years, he was still blinded by the automatic, knee-jerk, belief that his older brother was everything a person ought to be in life?

He didn't know, and he didn't know if he had the capacity to find out. He wasn't sure he wanted to even go there. However, he was sure that Sam had a point. They were their own people. Maybe, through staying in San Fransisco, Jake could learn that lesson well enough to stop feeling like he would never measure up to Kit no matter how hard he tried.

 _I never wanna live in fear_

 _I don't wanna hold back all the things I need to say_

 _Say, say_

 _I got you figured out, you need to have control_

 _You think that I don't know you, I know you, I know_

 _Trying to tell you now, I've been doing what you want_

 _But I won't be your yes girl, no, not anymore_

 _Just let me go, just let me go_

 _Yes Girl,_ Bea Miller

They were leaving as soon as Jake got back from the pharmacy with her Scopolamine refill and some snacks for the road. Sam reflected on the weekend as she folded the last bits of the laundry Jake hadn't finished this morning. It had been a long trip, in more ways that one. Sam felt, on the whole, very good about the way things had panned out.

She dreaded going home and diving deep into the transition to living in San Fransisco in the Fall. She knew that leaving would be a challenge. Right now, though, her focus was upon what the summer was going to comprise. Her thoughts of a summer focused on work had evaporated like the spring dew under Kit's tires.

Sam finished folding her last shirt, and shoved the clean clothing into the duffle bag. As she tried to zip the bag, Aunt Sue tapped on the doorjamb and advanced forward to sit on the chair in the corner, "Sunday is Funday!"

"I had fun at church this morning." Sam noted, "Though laundry isn't my idea of a good time."

"That's why I avoid it for as long as humanly possible." Sue quipped, her jersey wrap dress making her lanky figure seem all the yet more urban and sleek, "You left an interesting letter stuck to the fridge this morning."

"Did I?" Sam wondered, knowing full well that she had placed a copy of the confirmation of her acceptance on the fridge, so that Sue would know she had accepted her spot at Orange Grove.

Sam finished zipping the bag to look at Susan, who was grinning like a loon. Sam found herself smiling in return.

"You did." Sue returned, her grin splitting her face, "I for one am just thrilled. I won't apologize for my decades of meddling and pushing, because I know you don't give a damn for my say so and did this because it's your free choice."

"You'd be entirely correct." Sam agreed, fishing an errant pair of flats from the closet. She would need those next week if Jen was serious about her desire to go shopping. Her feet swelled in malls. The bustle made her itch.

Sue was never one to hold back her thoughts, "You saw yourself on the Senior Seats. I know you did." Sue was as contented as the Cheshire Cat. "You did, and that's why you changed your mind."

"I didn't see myself." Sam lied, "I made the decision on the basis of facts, and my impressions of the campus."

"You can't fool me, Samantha Anne." Sue winked, "I'll keep your secret, don't worry. Thirty years from now, you're likely to be in my shoes. Remember that I was merciful."

Sam rolled her eyes, "Merciful? You launched an out and out campaign the second you knew I was female."

"Nonsense." Sue retorted, "I waited to make sure the sonogram was correct before putting you on the mailing list and buying you a onesie."

Sam snorted. She'd heard enough stories to contend otherwise. Oddly, she felt somehow closer to her aunt in this moment. It wasn't why she had made the choices she had, but it was certainly a nice side-effect of it all.

"Oh, let's go to bunch." Sue stood up as Sam heard the kitchen door open to admit the aforementioned man, "We'll celebrate properly." She shifted from foot to foot in childlike exuberance, "Wait until I tell the girls. We'll have a nice day of celebration. I'm sure Jake has news of his own, too."

Jake appeared in the bedroom door, and looked decidedly uncomfortable with the idea of brunch. His own discomfort did not outpace Sam's, however. She shook her minutely in his direction, and focused on her aunt, "Look, when I come back you can take me to one of your pearls and twirls brunches with all the other mothers showing off their horse-faced daughters going to Orange Grove on legacy scholarships."

"That is an entirely unfair representation of my alumna circle." Sue sniffed, waggling her fingers at Jake in a hello, "Only three of my friends make a habit of vintage pearls, and we typically eat too much stuffed french toast to twirl, thank you very much."

"Well, I'll wipe the trail dust off of my face before coming to brunch, how's that?" Sam teased.

"Well, that's mighty charitable." Sue returned. She sobered for a long moment and considered the two of them. "I'm very proud of the both of you. While I know right now's not the right time to discuss logistics, I do want you both to know that you're welcome at home for as long as you like."

Sam knew the surprise on her face was echoed in Jake's own expression. He regained his composure first, "That's something we hadn't expected, Sue."

Sue blinked owlishly at Jake, who stepped forward so as not to linger in the doorway. "And why not?" Her hands landed on her rounded hips as though she was seriously annoyed and not just making light of their seriousness, "You can't beat the amenities, and the in house entertainment comes gratis, even if she can be bribed with good Chinese takeout."

Sam grinned, "We'll be hard pressed to outdo that, but we'll let you know."

Sue agreed to that, and fussed over Jake's own news, which she'd sussed out largely on the basis of the assumption that they were staying together. Sam hadn't yet enlightened her as to the details. Sue was a giant romantic, and she had no desire to expose the inner workings of their relationship to her aunt's gaze.

Sam left Jake to his own devices as she went to the bathroom. After completing the required activities therein, she lifted the edge of her earlobe. There, on the flat slope of her neck, rested a tan patch. She understood that on the street, her anti-nausea patch in pill form was sought after. However, Sam couldn't imagine wanting to take them. They blurred her vision, gave her heartburn, and made her a bit loopy when they first hit her system.

She'd put one on about an hour ago. She'd used her last patch, and Jake had sensibly agreed to pick up the refills from her appointment with Francis on Friday. Sam rinsed her mouth with mouth wash to chase away the cotton-mouth, and stared at herself in the mirror.

She was pale and wan. Her eyes were dilated to cartoonish effect, to such a degree that it made her sick to look at them. However, in their dark depths, Sam swore she saw her future. It was bright, unshaped by her actions, waiting just beyond her grasp. She was determined to face it boldly, even if it did make her stomach swoop.

Then again, that could have just been the drugs.

 _Everybody's got to walk this lonesome valley_

 _We've got to walk it by ourselves_

 _There's nobody here can walk it for us_

 _We've got to walk it by ourselves_

 _Lonesome Valley,_ The Carter Family


End file.
